


The Return

by OttersandDoes86



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cunnilingus, Dry Humping, Enemies to Lovers, Eventual Smut, F/M, Light Angst, Mentions of Noncon/Dubcon, Shower Sex, Slow Burn, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-08
Updated: 2018-09-02
Packaged: 2019-03-02 00:53:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 54,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13306962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OttersandDoes86/pseuds/OttersandDoes86
Summary: Hermione Granger returns to Hogwarts without her two best friends. Where she thinks she will find peace and a sense of home, she instead finds the last person she ever wanted to see again. Follow her through her final year as she learns there is more to life than cleverness and books.





	1. The Train

**Author's Note:**

> This is rated E for later chapters.

Boarding the Hogwarts Express had always been one of Hermione Granger’s favorite aspects of being a witch. The hustle, bustle and excitement of the loading platform as friends were reunited and nervous first years took that first step on their magical journey always seemed to enervate her. She would never tell anyone, but the absolute chaos secretly thrilled her.

The best part, however, was the moment of complete stillness when she first entered a cabin, the door closing softly behind her and the whole world going silent. Always before it was a time to think and anticipate all of the things to come, new classes and spells and books to read.

But not this time. This time, in that moment, she didn’t want to think. She just wanted to forget. About the war. About what she’d seen and done. About Malfoy Manor and “mudblood” carved into her skin. About friends and professors dead and buried and those left behind to grieve. About obliviated parents living happily in Australia…without her.

She dreaded the silence, knowing that this time it would not be broken within minutes by Harry and Ron bumbling through the door, talking about quidditch and the candy trolley. They were in Auror training at the ministry and had decided not to return for an “eighth” year to complete their studies. She was alone and the deafening silence would last for hours.

She contemplated finding Ginny or Luna, or even the other “eighth years” just to be surrounded by noise and distraction but dismissed the notion quickly. The gaiety would just sadden her further as she thought of all those no longer there to celebrate and laugh with. All those she couldn’t save in time. All those who might not have died if she had just been a bit quicker, a bit smarter, a bit less starving and more able to concentrate. Maybe then she would have figured out the horcruxes a bit earlier and stopped Voldemort before he attacked the school.

Hermione knew she was being more than a bit mental and shouldn’t…couldn’t… really blame herself. She knew the only one to blame was Voldemort and those who followed him. No unforgivables had come from her wand and no innocent blood was on her hands. But in the silence, without the distraction of Harry’s brotherly arm around her shoulders or Ron’s quick humor, there was nothing to block the thoughts out, nothing to drown out the roar of guilt, shame, and despair.

Hermione felt the sob crawling up her throat and was about to let loose when the cabin door suddenly flung open and in walked the last person she thought she would ever see again. The last person she ever _wanted_ to see again. A walking, talking memory of torture and “dirty” blood dripping on a marble floor.

Draco Malfoy slammed the door shut behind him and glared at her, his quicksilver eyes, partially hidden behind a waterfall of platinum hair, conveying disgust and anger as he raked them over her from head to toe, barely pausing at her red, blotchy cheeks and damp eyes.

“I would’ve thought you’d have learned _some_ occlumency while on the run, Granger,” he spat, his trademark sneer twisting his lips. “If I have to be subjected to any more of your depressing thoughts, I might have to _crucio_ myself just to get some relief!”

The shock of seeing him quickly wore off as his words registered in her brain. “How dare you use legilimency on me!” Hermione hissed. “You have no right to poke your pointy nose into my thoughts,” she seethed, digging her wand out of her pocket and holding it at the ready, waiting for the slightest twitch from Malfoy.

“Relax,” Malfoy drawled. “I would never _willingly_ peek into _your_ brain, Granger. Probably full of boring facts about Hogwarts and self-righteous speeches about house elf rights.” Malfoy shuddered dramatically. “Besides, I would think the brightest witch of our age would remember that eye contact is needed for legilimency and I only just got here. You’re projecting so loudly it’s a wonder even that thick, red-headed weasel boyfriend of yours doesn’t pick up on it back at the ministry. Not that the idiot would even know what was going on.”

At the mention of Ron, Hermione blushed a deep shade of red and was unable to stop the memory of Ron dumping her “for her own good, really” from pushing to the front of her mind.

“Oh, trouble in paradise, I see,” Malfoy quipped. “I’d think you’d be happier that train wreck didn’t work out. Dodged an _avada_ with that one, surely. I mean, honestly, did you really picture yourself married to that daft git, a dozen bushy-haired gingers calling you ‘mummy’?”

Malfoy was leaning against the cabin door, ankles and arms crossed, looking for all the world as if he had nowhere else to be and nothing better to do than to inquire about her admittedly non-existent love life. Hermione was torn between embarrassment, anger, and outright confusion. Naturally, her need to know everything outweighed anything and everything else.

“I wouldn’t have thought you’d have given any thought to my future husband and children, Malfoy. Envious of the love and affection you will surely never know? After all, what woman would willingly marry a former Death Eater…and such a shoddy one at that?” Hermione shot back acidly.

Malfoy was on her in a blink, one hand wrapped in her bushy hair, yanking her head back, the other forcing her wand hand down and away. His face was so close to hers that their noses were but an inch apart and she had to practically cross her eyes to bring him into focus. She had never been so close to him before. In fact, when she thought a moment, she was sure he had never actually touched her before that instant.

“Watch it, Granger,” he snarled, his warm and wet breath hissing against her lips. “Potty and Weasel aren’t here to protect you and I’ve got nothing left to lose.”

Hermione was too stunned to move, to struggle, to kick or push at him with her free hand. She could feel his heart pounding against her chest and with each inhale she tasted his toothpaste. Spearmint. She was once again confused. His words, meant to intimidate, instead served to bring his own misery into sharp focus. She found herself sympathizing with him.

Before she had a chance to contemplate the wisdom of her actions, she slid her free arm around his back and pulled him to her in an awkward half hug. “I’m sorry,” she breathed. “That was a cruel thing to say.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco Malfoy was pretty sure that if Hell existed, the Slytherin car on the Hogwarts Express was it. No longer considered the prince of Slytherin, he was hailed as a blood traitor for switching sides in the war. While none of the others would outright support Voldemort’s doomed cause in public, they still very much touted the superiority of pure blood when amongst their own. Draco found himself ostracized and the recipient of some very pointed, very dark looks full of malice and cunning. If those looks were anything to go by, he was single-handedly responsible for the abysmal failure that was the Second Wizarding War.

Looking for another car was out of the picture, as the other houses still viewed him as a Death Eater, a student who took the Dark Mark, let the likes of Bellatrix and the Carrows into the school, and housed the Dark Lord himself in his ancestral home. Did they hate him? As much as anyone on the side of the light _could_ hate someone. Did they fear him? Unequivocally, without a doubt, _yes_.

Draco thanked his lucky stars his aunt had taught him the fine art of occlumency, never mind that she literally tortured him when he failed a lesson, as it allowed him to hide his inner turmoil behind an exterior of calm indifference. Controlling your feelings was the key to being a good occlumens. That exterior was close to cracking however and it was all the _mud-_ muggleborn’s fault.

Draco felt as if he knew some of what Potter went through, being forced to endure Voldemort’s thoughts, as Granger’s pounded through his skull. Frankly, he was shocked at how dark and depressing her thoughts were. She won. She was a hero. Everyone welcomed her wherever she went. Yes, people died, but that’s what war is. At least her parents weren’t in Azkaban awaiting trial. At least she had friends to take her in. At least she wasn’t forced to live in an empty mansion surrounded by memories of the tortures and deaths that occurred regularly within its walls.

When he saw himself in her ruminations, disheveled and pale, watching helplessly while his aunt tortured and maimed her, he had had enough. He rose swiftly from his seat in the back of the car, strode with head held high past his housemates, and made his way towards the source of the dark cloud in his mind. He had no idea that within minutes he would find himself in the embrace of one bushy-haired, know-it-all, Gryffindor princess.

In fact, as he stood there, his hand buried in her surprisingly soft hair, her pulse fluttering like a hummingbird’s wings against the palm of his hand where he gripped her delicate wrist, he was at a loss. He rarely found himself in a position where he didn’t know how to proceed. Sure, there were times when he couldn’t decide what to do but he always knew what the choices were. And there were instances where he knew what to do, but wasn’t sure how to go about getting it done. But the times when he absolutely had no idea at all on how to proceed were few and far between. In fact, it had only happened once, when Hermione Granger, one third of the Golden Trio, the brains behind the defeat of the Dark Lord, with her hair held savagely in his grip and her wand under his control, hugged him and whispered apologies in breath scented with vanilla and coffee.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco found himself doing something else he had never done before: conceding. He released his grip on her curls, trying to ignore the tingling of his fingertips as the strands slipped silkily away, and stepped out of her embrace.

“Forget it,” Draco muttered. “You’re probably right anyway. Besides, I’d rather deal with your anger than that ‘woe is me’ nonsense you were wallowing in before. Put up some shields, Granger, or at least try not to wallow so bloody loudly. Some of us would like to drown in our own misery in peace, thank you very much.”

With that he pulled open the door and made to leave, remembering in that instant that he really had nowhere else to go where he would be welcomed. He was _persona non grata_ in his own house and akin to a deranged serial killer in the other houses. His hesitation lasted but a moment; however a moment to someone as brilliant and observant as Hermione Granger might as well have been a month.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“I’m not expecting anyone to join me,” Hermione announced timidly. She had sensed his hesitation and it didn’t take much to ascertain the cause. “The other cabins must be taken by now.” He still hadn’t turned around so she tried a new tactic. “Well, either sit down or don’t. I’m going to read and go back to pretending you don’t exist until classes force us to share the same air. You are welcome to do the same.”

With that, she plunked ungracefully onto the bench near the window, tucked her feet up underneath her, and opened up the copy of the Daily Prophet as of yet ignored on the seat beside her. She sensed rather than saw Malfoy move. The room became a little warmer as the door closed and his body heat was trapped inside with hers. She felt the weight of his gaze on her face and she hastily moved her eyes back and forth, as if engrossed in the article about… _how to keep your wizard’s wand out of another witch’s cauldron!_

Hermione could feel the fiery red racing up her neck to her face and quickly turned the page before Malfoy could see what she was reading. She risked a glance in his direction, worried he had somehow noticed her embarrassment, but he apparently had taken her invitation to heart and was very studiously ignoring her. He had hunched into the opposite corner of the other bench, close to the cabin door, and was staring straight ahead. If it wasn’t for the tension in his jaw suggesting gritted teeth, she might think him lost in daydreams.

Since he wasn’t really looking at her, she took the time to look at him instead. She had never really paid much attention to him before. Not his looks anyway. His truly rotten behavior blinded her to anything else and made him utterly repulsive. With that arrogance and air of superiority stripped away, she was left with nothing else to notice but how genetics and God had put him together. Hermione could say, with perfect objectivity, that Draco Malfoy was not utterly repulsive. In fact, objectively, one might call him attractive. _If one were truly being objective_ , she argued with herself, _one would most certainly say that he was a product of precise breeding_. In other words, he was handsome in that way that was a bit….well…perfect, really.

Age had done wonders for his pointy features and his face had filled out enough to balance the length with the width. His high forehead was adorned with sharply arched, thick, blonde brows set above hooded silver eyes framed in lashes so dark any girl would be envious. Between those eyes sat his patrician nose, once too thin and pointed for his face, now a point of delicacy to counteract the sharp chisel of his high cheekbones. Remembering third year, Hermione thought that if she slapped him now those cheekbones might actually cut her. A strong, stubborn jaw and slightly pointed chin were topped with thick, sensuous lips as pink as candy floss. Combine the perfect face with platinum hair just this side of too long and he really did resemble an angel.

Hermione had always known he was tall and thin but didn’t realize how tall until he had her flush against his body with her head held roughly back. The top of her head barely reached his collarbone. He was still thin, but in the way a swimmer was thin, all skin stretched over lean, wiry muscle. The muscles in his forearm when he held her by the hair bulged beneath his simple dress shirt and she recalled feeling the outline of abs and the jut of hipbones against her torso.

Unconsciously she found herself staring at his legs, trying to recall if they had been thin like some men’s were or well-developed with thick thigh muscles and strong calves. She couldn’t remember the feel of them pressed against her own legs but supposed that years of playing seeker straddling a broom had probably helped to define his leg muscles a bit and she doubted that he was hiding chicken legs under his tailored slacks.

Satisfied with her perusal and her ability to assess him objectively, Hermione hummed a low note and smirked, bringing her eyes up from his body and…straight into a pair of steel grey orbs. She let out an involuntary squeak and jumped a little in her seat.

“Enjoying yourself, Granger?” Malfoy asked, one eyebrow raised and a smirk on his lips.

“I was….I was just….um…well, it’s just that I’ve never really….um, what I mean is…,” Hermione stuttered and stammered, sure that at any moment her head was actually going to burst into flames from the heat of her acute humiliation.

“Spit it out,” Malfoy commanded impatiently.

“I’ve-never-really-looked-at-you-before-and-didn’t-realize-that-you-were-actually-quite-handsome-underneath-all-your-arrogance-and-pureblood-posturing,” Hermione answered so quickly her words all blended into one. After that it was like a dam had broken. “I’ve always thought of you as being a pointy faced bastard with your nose in the air but when you aren’t actually acting like a bastard you’re really quite….um…nice….good looking….almost pretty really. Your nose and chin is still a bit pointy but….well your lashes and…um…lips are soft enough to balance it out and….well…yeah, I’m going to shut up now.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco was pretty sure Hermione Granger had just called him pretty. He couldn’t decide if he wanted to be offended or, frankly, disgusted by the idea that she might fancy him. Or was he disgusted with himself for _not_ being disgusted by the idea that she might fancy him? It was enough to give him a nose bleed.

“Well, if I actually cared what you thought about my appearance I might be flattered,” he drawled. “Then again, an assessment of my looks coming from someone who so clearly puts no thought into her own isn’t really reliable, now is it?”

Draco wondered how her face could possibly become even redder, but somehow she managed it. Though, it was difficult to tell if it was from embarrassment or anger. His answer came when she whispered a charm and his body was suddenly buffeted by a swirling funnel of wind and dust. The wind whipped his hair into a frenzy and stung his eyes and he soon found himself covered in dirt.

“Not so pretty anymore,” Granger observed through gritted teeth. “Just because we don’t all spend a fortune on Sleakeazy hair oil and at least an hour rubbing lotions into our oh-so-delicate skin doesn’t mean we don’t care about our own looks. I just have more important things to worry about and am confident enough in my looks to not feel the need to enhance them.”

“If you were that confident you wouldn’t feel the need to retaliate for my offhanded comment.” Draco knew his mark hit home when the red slowly bleached from her face. “I didn’t say there was anything wrong with your looks, Granger. Your face is fine and you grew into your teeth. I’ve never really paid attention before but your body isn’t half bad either. And your hair is...no, sorry, that’s still a nightmare. I merely pointed out that you don’t put much thought into your looks. A point, I might add, that you were quick to make yourself.”

Draco whispered a quick _scourgify_ to rid his clothing of dirt and ran his hands through his blonde tresses to put them back into some semblance of order. In the past he might have hexed her to teach her a lesson about messing with him. Now though, he was too tired to care about something so trivial. He did wonder, though, why he felt compelled to reassure her about her looks.

“Well, it’s true,” Granger insisted. “I’ve been busy, in case you weren’t aware, trying to prevent a war and then trying to end it. I didn’t really have time to sit and gossip and learn about makeup and hairstyles with the girls. No need, really. And I couldn’t possibly care less what _you_ think of my hair.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” Draco insisted. “Really. I don’t care. It isn’t as if you have anyone to impress. The whole wizarding world adores you and I’m sure there will be little witches begging their mums to throw away their brushes and let them dress like schoolmarms.” Draco cursed himself as soon as he said it. He really wasn’t trying to goad her. Snark just came naturally to him and sometimes he couldn’t stop himself.

“You know, I take it back. You are a foul git and too much of a bastard to be considered handsome. In fact, you are probably the ugliest person I’ve ever met.” And with that, and a flick of her wrist, Draco found himself lifted bodily and tossed through the now open cabin door, which slammed and locked behind him once he landed in the hall.

 _Bollocks,_ he thought, _where the hell am I supposed to go now?_

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Hermione didn’t want to cry anymore. Not because she was no longer upset. No. She just didn’t want to give Malfoy the satisfaction. How dare he…well….how dare he off-handedly compliment her like that. What right did he have to talk about her body and face as if he had paid any sort of attention to her looks at all? Fine? Not half bad? His compliments were almost as bad as his insults.

The rest of the ride was spent plotting. In fact, she felt that if the sorting hat could see her now, it would probably say she’d make the perfect addition to Slytherin house. Hermione was so intent on planning how to get back at Draco Malfoy, she didn’t have time to think about war and death and loneliness.

It was the first real moment of peace she’d had since the war had ended nearly 5 months before. She supposed she should be grateful for the distraction. Or, at least, she would suppose if she wasn’t so caught up in her plotting that she would even noticed the absence of the black cloud that had become such a constant presence in her mind.

By the time the train arrived at Hogsmeade Station, she was humming quietly to herself and glowing with the sort of satisfaction she normally felt after finishing a particularly challenging bit of homework, weeks in advance of course. She was so caught up in her own satisfaction, that she didn’t feel the storm cloud eyes on her as she exited the cabin and made her way towards the exit of the car. She was unaware that to those eyes, her glow looked like that of someone who had been well-loved and not left wanting. Combined with her just-rolled-out-of-bed hair and disheveled clothing, she conjured unwanted images of chestnut curls spread across green silk sheets and hummingbird flutters on body parts much more sensitive than the palm of one’s hand.

Oblivious to the thoughts of a certain blonde Slytherin, Hermione joined her fellow Gryffindors on the train platform. She stood just outside their circle, listening to their chatter and waiting patiently for a lull in the conversation. She didn’t have long to wait as first one, and then another, and then another of her housemates realized she was there. They all turned almost shyly and greeted her with small smiles. To Hermione, they also seemed slightly guilty. They probably just realized that they had practically forgotten her existence.

“’Mione!” exclaimed Ginny, as if just remembering that Hermione had been on the train, despite the fact that they had actually boarded together after hugging Molly and Arthur good-bye. “We were wondering where you’d got off to. I was going to come and find you but…” she trailed off.

“Its fine, Gin,” Hermione reassured the younger girl. “I found a nice quiet spot to read. You know I hate the chaos of the train. In fact I was reading this fascinating article about weather magic and the time just flew by.”

“It’s so nice of you to spare everyone’s feelings, Hermione. Did you hear what they’re doing with the ‘eighth years’?” This came from Luna, who had appeared behind Ginny.

Ignoring her friend’s embarrassed blush, Hermione smiled and answered Luna. “No, I haven’t been told yet. I assume that they will announce something at the feast. I just need a bed to sleep in and a desk to write on. I don’t care where they end up. They could set me up with Moaning Myrtle at this point and I’d just shrug and filch a pair of ear muffs from the greenhouses!”

Everyone laughed and embarrassment and guilt were forgotten. Hermione was sure that was exactly what the deceptively flighty Lovegood had intended. There wasn’t much more time to talk as they all had carriages to catch and Hermione, trying to be accommodating, waited for everyone to board before occupying whichever seat was still available.

The ride to the castle was a fairly quiet one as the carriage she was riding in was full of second years that had started Hogwarts during her horcrux hunting year and they were too nervous about sharing a carriage with _the Hermione Granger_ to talk in any volume higher than a stunned whisper. Hermione once again found herself feeling lonely and looked around for Malfoy in a desperate attempt to stave off the dark depression.

She found him in another carriage of second year students, all of whom kept a wide berth and none of whom dared to even whisper, lest they anger the cold man with the dead eyes they had the misfortune to sit with. Thankfully, the ride was a short one and the anxious children were able to hurriedly disembark the carriage and flee.

If Hermione hadn’t been watching Malfoy so closely, she would have missed the look that crossed his face so briefly she actually wondered if it had even been there at all. Malfoy had looked…sad…lonely…hopeless. She wasn’t sure. All she knew was that he definitely wasn’t happy.

                                                             XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Draco Malfoy definitely wasn’t happy. The twits he was riding with were so terrified they were moments away from wetting themselves. No spines in the lot of them. You would think he had boarded the carriage and immediately started casting curses or something. He supposed it was better than the death stares he was getting from his housemates but the silence was not helping him at all. He needed a distraction. Something to get his mind off of the bushy-haired know-it-all who had invaded his thoughts and was at that moment staring at him. He knew it. He could feel her chocolate brown eyes on him. Unfortunately, it made him want to feel other parts of her body on him and he was disgusted with himself for even thinking about her in that way.

 _And when did that happen,_ he wondered. When had Granger become a girl to him? He was pretty sure when he had woken up that morning, she was a nonentity, an annoying reminder that he would always be second best at school, behind a creature his parents had always taught him was inferior to even squibs. Just thinking about how the facts he had grown up knowing were true had been thrown back in his face over the last year, the last seven years if he were being honest with himself, reminded him of everything else he had lost. His parents were gone. His friends had abandoned him. His fundamental beliefs were in tatters around him. And a bunch of 12 year olds were running from him as if they couldn’t get away fast enough lest he murder them where they stood. He felt so lost in that moment that he looked around, desperately trying to find something to anchor him.

For the fourth time that day, his eyes met Granger’s. She smiled a sympathetic grimace in his direction as if to say, “I hate this, too” and it was enough, just barely enough to keep him from losing it on the steps of Hogwarts. He tilted his head in acknowledgement and made his way inside, to a feast he wouldn’t eat and a dorm where he wasn’t welcome.


	2. First Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our heroine gets a roommate.

Chapter 2: First Night

No one was surprised that they had made Professor McGonagall headmistress. They weren’t really surprised that she had not chosen head boy and girl from the crop of 8th year students, even though Hermione Granger was amongst that illustrious lot. She was, after all, a fair woman. They were quite surprised when she announced that a separate dorm had been set up for those 8th years, regardless of House affiliation. The Slytherins were not-so-secretly disappointed that Malfoy would not be housed with them, as they had plans to make him regret every decision he had ever made down to and including his apparently unwise decision to be born.

Hermione was outwardly disappointed to be separated from her House yet understanding of the logic behind it. Inwardly, she was relieved to have a place to hide away from happy lions already moving past the war and getting on with their lives. She relished the news of having a place where she wouldn’t be expected to smile and pretend that life was grand. She wasn’t entirely joking when she said she would be happy sleeping in Myrtle’s bathroom as long as it was quiet.

It wasn’t until the feast was over, Hermione having eaten very little of it, and McGonagall was leading the 8th years to their dorm, that it hit her. She hadn’t stopped to think about who else might be returning to school. The Ministry had been willing to waive N.E.W.T exams for those 7th years that were affected by the war. Harry and Ron had been quick to take advantage of that, in fact. It had never occurred to Hermione, however, that the amount of students returning would be so small. Hardly a handful of students followed the headmistress through the winding halls of Hogwarts.

Justin Fitch-Fletchley, Kevin Entwhistle, Terry Boot, Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnegan, Michael Corner, and Anthony Goldstein were the only other students to return. All male and all half-blood, muggleborn, or blood traitor. McGonagall led them to a little-used corridor and directed the boys, save Malfoy, to a painting of a tree, where a bowtruckle awaited their password. Malfoy and Hermione waited in the hall while the boys were settled in their dorm, neither having the courage to look at the other. Soon enough the headmistress had led them up and down a few more corridors before halting once more.

“Now listen, you two,” McGonagall commanded, peering at them over her half spectacles. “There were many reasons we chose to house you separately from your houses and the other returning students. You can speculate all you like as to the why of the situation. The most important of these is your own well-being.” The two students must have looked confused because she continued. “Not only are you heroes of the war, to some, but enemies to others. You will be stared at, talked about and bombarded from all sides. We felt we owed you a safe haven from all of that.”

“But…together?” Hermione asked timidly. “What made you think to put the two of _us_ together, Headmistress? He hates me!”

“She has a point, loathe as I am to admit it,” Malfoy agreed. Hermione shot him a dark look.

                “Where else would you have me put you?” McGonagall asked sharply. “We are still repairing damage from the battle. Be glad we had space for you at all or else you’d be hunkering down in Hagrid’s hut!” With that the headmistress led them to a large painting of a spring garden. As the trio looked at it, a fairy flittered out from behind a tree and presented herself. A quickly uttered “sapiens et callidus” later and Hermione found herself in her new dorm with the last person she thought she would ever be rooming with.

            She was standing in a small, square room with two doors directly across from the entrance. To her left were two desks separated by a bookshelf and an open door through which she could see a small bathroom. To her right was a tiny fireplace with a sofa and two end tables in front of it. That was the entirety of the room’s décor. To say the room was cozy would be giving it too much credit. It was almost cramped and the lack of rugs or any sort of personalization made it feel less like the home Hogwart’s had become and more like a motel room.

                “A castle full of wizards and they couldn’t use an enlarging charm?” Malfoy asked sarcastically.

                “The castle wouldn’t allow it,” the headmistress answered smartly. “Of course, you may decorate any way you wish. The bedrooms are identical so no need to squabble over who gets which room.”

                “I’ll decide what’s worth squabbling over,” Malfoy retorted. “Which one would you prefer, Granger?”

                “The left,” Hermione answered, already anticipating his response.

                “I’ll take the room on the left, Headmistress,” Malfoy stated, falling right into Hermione’s trap.

                “That’s fine, Malfoy,” Hermione said serenely. “I was partial to the door on the right anyway.” She flashed a smirk in the blonde’s direction and made her way to her new room, pushing the door open just enough to peek inside. It was as utilitarian as she expected, though a bit roomier than the common area.

                “I’ll leave you two to get settled. Three taps of your wand to change the password on your bedroom doors. We’ll discuss schedules in the morning, as adjustments will have to be made.” With that the new headmistress slipped from the room almost as if she had never been there.

                Hermione watched her go and then turned to face her new dorm mate. He was leaning against his bedroom door, ankles and arms crossed, head tilted slightly to the side and silver eyes regarding her closely. She tried not to move when he pushed off the wall and approached her, moving so smoothly that he resembled the snake on his lapel pin. She had to remind herself that she had faced snatchers, Death Eaters, Bellatrix Lestrange and many other creatures from her nightmares. Draco Malfoy did not scare her.

                When he was about a foot away, close enough that his every breath stirred her hair, he stopped. He didn’t touch her. He didn’t say anything. He just stood there, waiting. For what, she wasn’t quite sure. She found herself mesmerized by his lapel pin, unable to look away from it. It moved slightly with every breath he took, its emerald eye sparkling in the dim light from the lanterns on the wall. The longer he stood there, watching her, the harder it was for her to breathe. She was sure that at any moment she was going to hyperventilate.

                Finally, finally, he turned away and closed himself away in his room. Hermione wisely waited until she was safely within her own room before collapsing against the wall, trembling and not sure what the bloody hell had just happened.

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Draco surveyed his new room. As distractions went, it wasn’t the best but it would do. It wasn’t small but it definitely wasn’t the spacious rooms he was accustomed to. Directly across from him was a small window that looked out over the lake. There was a full sized bed in the far right corner, pushed against the wall, below a narrow window, with a night stand and lamp next to it. At the end of the bed was his trunk, probably magically placed there by a house elf once he had made his room choice known. Against the wall to his left was an armoire and an armchair occupied the opposite corner from the bed.

                Draco wasn’t opposed to the size of the room; it was better than sharing a room with 4 other boys. He was, however, deeply opposed to the absolute lack of any luxury. A few swish and flicks later and his bed was richly adorned with green silk sheets and a down comforter as black as Voldemort’s soul. Curtains of heavy velvet hung around the bed to ward off chill and light. A throw rug covered much of the bare floor, his clothing hung in the armoire, and the utilitarian lamp and armchair were transfigured into much more appropriate pieces befitting his wealth and snobbishness.

                With decorating completed Draco had nothing to occupy his mind. There was nothing to keep it from wandering back to just a few minutes before in the common room. He didn’t know what he had been thinking. One minute he was looking at Granger, wondering what the hell he was supposed to do with his new roommate and the next he was standing in front of her. He wasn’t trying to intimidate her. Or maybe he was. He didn’t know. He wanted to touch her but he didn’t. He wanted her to look at him but he prayed she wouldn’t because he didn’t know what he was going to do if she did.

                To say he was uncomfortable with the situation was an understatement. He didn’t like not knowing what to do and he didn’t like when he wasn’t in control of himself. Having spent his life being told what to do at every waking moment of the day, he kept the utmost control of himself and his actions, the one thing they couldn’t take from him. Finding himself across the room and in front of his enemy… _former enemy_ …without knowing why or how he had gotten there was definitely an issue for him.

                So, as he was wont to do when faced with a precarious/dangerous/unsettling/confusing situation, he took a mental step back and took stock of the situation.

                Did he hate Granger? No. He found her incredibly irritating with her know-it-all attitude and her intellectual superiority. Did he want to harm her? No. While he wouldn’t go so far as to say he never wished ill on others (he could admit he was a bit of a prat), he could honestly say he didn’t want to personally cause her harm. Did he want to scare her, intimidate her, or annoy her? Well, yeah. It was fun to watch her face go all red and her eyes shoot fire. He swore her hair actually stood on end with all the aggravated energy she always tried to contain. But his aim was to get a rise out of her, not actually leave her cowering in fear or hexing his bits off. So was that what he was trying to accomplish just now? Did he just want to see how she would react?

                Now that he was thinking about it, he tried to recall every detail of how she actually reacted. He was standing so close to her that he could smell her shampoo, feel her breath as it whispered across his chest, taste the vanilla and coffee on it with every inhale of his own, and see the pulse beating frantically at her throat. She wouldn’t look at him, eyes glued straight ahead. Her short stature put her eyes level with his chest and she seemed intent on keeping them there.

He had stared at her face, willing her eyes to rise to his. He was looking so intently that he noticed for the first time the smattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose and high cheekbones. He became entranced by how dark and long her eyelashes were. He doubted she wore any sort of cosmetics or glamours. She was far too intellectual to get caught up in vanity, as she was quite quick to point out on the train. Her lips twitched and his attention was immediately drawn to their lushness. Her mouth was wide and a perfect cupid’s bow, the bottom a bit fuller than the top, and a pale rose in color.

Draco recalled that at the time the thought of what those lips would feel like had crossed his mind. Would she be timid and allow him to control the kiss, pushing past her lips and taking what he wanted? Would she be curious and do some exploring of her own? Would she be passionate, unleashing her angst on his mouth and demanding more, ever more? Or, as with every interaction they shared, would she fight him, resisting his attempts to gain entrance to her warm, wet mouth, clawing at him and pushing him away until he wore her down and she gave in, or went for her wand which, admittedly, was more likely?

It was the realization that he was fantasizing about kissing _Granger_ that finally snapped him out of it and sent his mind back into his room. Draco didn’t know what to make of his thoughts about Granger. He could admit that she was appealing in a way and he wasn’t exactly immune to that. Her blood status, once the most important quality in his mind, was but an afterthought. It was difficult to give up beliefs taught from the cradle. Less so after being bested year after year by a being his parents had taught him wasn’t even really magical. Even less so after spending a year watching people being tortured and killed over his breakfast kippers...midday tea…after dinner coffee. One tends to abandon beliefs once one knows the man responsible for them was a raving, homicidal maniac.

Draco decided that his brain couldn’t possibly take any more turmoil. He _accio’d_ his night clothes, cast the appropriate cleansing charms for his face and teeth, and crawled into his bed, vowing to get a decent night’s sleep and wake up refreshed.

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While Malfoy was having a bit of an existential crisis, Hermione was having a complete mental breakdown in the next room. She didn’t understand her reaction. She had always been secure in her feelings for Malfoy. He was a loathsome git she positively couldn’t stand and wanted as little to do with as possible. She had never feared him, finding him too cowardly and pathetic to be intimidating. For a little while after her time in the manor she resented him, despised his cowardice and unwillingness to help when his lunatic aunt was torturing her. But she had also appreciated his difficult situation and his decision to not identify them or summon Voldemort. Perhaps it was these mixed emotions that caused her to be where she was now, on the verge of a panic attack at the realization they would be sharing a dorm for the foreseeable future.

Her jumbled emotions about that day and about Malfoy himself, combined with her sudden recognition and appreciation for his looks were not enough to send her in such a tailspin. What really did it was the recent memory of his skin on hers, his body pressed to hers, muscles in stark contrast to her softness. Then, when he approached her, she was sure that he was going to _do_ something. Hermione was not a fan of uncertainty and so not knowing what he was going to do, but sure he was going to do something, was just as comforting and upsetting as her feelings about his actions at the manor. She wasn’t sure if she wanted him to touch her, attack her, call her names, attempt to hex her, hug her or what. She just wanted him to _do_ something and end all of her uncertainty and anxiety about what he _might_ do.

When he simply walked away she was relieved and yet frustrated that she still wasn’t sure what was going on in his mind and what he had planned for her now that he was stuck with her just a door away. She was so close to losing it that she did the only thing she could think of to calm her nerves. She observed and gathered data.

She started by looking at her home for the next year. If she had seen Malfoy’s room, she would have seen that hers was arranged as a mirror reflection of his, meaning that her bed was pushed up against the same wall as his. They would essentially be sleeping right next to one another; close enough to touch were it not for the wall. It was just as sparsely decorated as Malfoy’s room as well and so she unknowingly followed his lead and began decorating.

She spelled the window first to always be clear so that rain or snow she could look out on the lake, vision unimpeded, but no one could look in. She conjured a soft, shaggy rug for the center of the room, sensible beige that helped to lighten the interior of the space. The chair became a bit plusher and a crocheted blanket and large cushion adorned it. She also conjured a small footstool. The lamp would not do at all, as it was not bright enough to read by, and so she transfigured it into an adjustable swing-arm lamp she could easily swing over the head of the bed or the chair, depending on where she chose to do her reading. The bed was quickly dressed in plush pillows, cotton sheets and a down comforter in varying shades of blue and brown ranging from the palest of periwinkle and cream to the darkest of navy and chocolate.

With decorating complete, Hermione got down to the business of unpacking. She was hoping to exhaust herself physically enough that she would fall straight to sleep and stop thinking of pale skin, hard muscles, and almost kisses. With a swish here and a flick there she had her trunk completely unpacked, robes and uniforms hanging in the armoire, muggle clothes in the drawers, and books and school supplies hovering in the air, waiting for her to open the door so they could arrange themselves on the shelves and desk in the common room.

The final touch was placing a single framed photograph on the nightstand, her parents’ smiling faces watching over her as she slept. Hermione, satisfied with her work and more than ready for bed, decided to use cleansing and hygiene charms in lieu of a shower, promising to shower in the morning, and crawled into bed, drifting quickly into sleep.

Her dreams were plagued with images of cursed knives digging into her flesh but the knife wasn’t held by Bellatrix Lestrange. When she dared to look into the eyes of her torturer, instead of deep brown tinged with a whole lot of crazy, she was consumed by liquid quicksilver. Malfoy’s lean body was pinning her to the floor, his hands holding her arms above her head, his body bent so low over her chest that his hair brushed against her cheek and his breath ghosted over her neck, raising goose bumps along her flesh.

She lay there, waiting, just as she had in their shared space but this time there was no lapel pin for her to focus on. She needed him to _do_ something. This torture was worse than the knife, the anticipation and anxiety tightening every muscle in her body and amplifying every sensation. His mouth opened, petal pink lips parting, and she locked her eyes on the plump flesh, hanging on every word sure to pass his lips… _soon_. As if in slow motion his mouth began to pucker, wrapping itself around a single word.

“Crucio.”

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                Draco was jostled awake by a blood-curdling scream, barely muffled by the stone wall bedside his head. He listened, in a panic, having heard too many of those in his young life, until he could make out words.

                “Please. I didn’t take anything. I didn’t….please! Draco…AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!”

                Draco placed his palm flat against the wall and squeezed his eyes shut. He knew where she was in her head. He relived that day in his nightmares often. He wished he had been able to do more than just sit there and watch his aunt torture her. He wished he had been a braver person. But he wasn’t then and he wasn’t now.

                “Silencio,” he muttered, once again taking the easy way out.


	3. The Light of Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something's rotten in the state of....Gryffindor?

Chapter 3: The Light of Day

                Sunlight streamed in through the narrow window, illuminating the room and waking its occupant. The war weary teenager, body trained to be on high alert, was instantly out of bed and assessing their surroundings for any possible threat. Upon seeing none, the student prepared for the day, grabbing uniform and robes, bath kit and towel and exiting the bedroom, their only thought on washing away the dried sweat, fear, and shame that were the trademark of a night filled with bad dreams and very little sleep.

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                Hermione gently closed her door, mumbling spell after spell to set locking and protection wards on it, before turning towards the one and only bathroom. She came up short when she spotted Malfoy standing outside his bedroom door, kit in hand, obviously with the same intention as she.

                _Be the better person, Hermione._

                “Good morning, Malfoy,” she greeted as cordially as she could. Her eyes burned, her head throbbed, and she felt sticky and sore. And none of those were due to pleasurable pursuits. She was a mite touchy but trying really hard to make her impossible living situation somewhat bearable. Perhaps if she was cordial to him he would be…

                “Piss off, Granger,” came at her in a low snarl.

                _Guess not._

                “I call dibs on the shower,” Hermione claimed. _Fuck the high road._

                “Dibs? What are we, twelve?” was his retort as he spun on his heel, clearly headed for the loo, which was closer to his bedroom than hers.

                It really was too bad for him that she had spent a year on the run, climbing over fallen debris in the woods and sometimes having to hurdle herself over downed trees if they were being pursued. She was certain she could outrun him. She darted two strides across the room, in front of the couch before turning and running right over it to land on the other side, just in front of the door. She stepped inside and turned to smirk triumphantly at the blonde snake.

                “You must have forgotten I’m a Gryffindor, Malfoy. We don’t back down from a challenge,” she said in her haughtiest tone.

                Malfoy took a step into the doorway, crowding her back towards the vanity sink, and leaned in, until he could bring his eyes level to hers. “You obviously forgot I’m a Slytherin. Let me show you what that means.”

                Suddenly, he shot his foot back and kicked the door shut, closing them both into the bathroom that was much too small for two people. With the flick of his wrist he had sent his bath kit to land atop the toilet lid, his towel to hang on the rod, and his uniform and robe hung themselves neatly on a hook behind the door. His hands were now free and he quickly put them to work unbuttoning what was undoubtedly a silk pajama shirt.

                “Wh-what are you doing?” Hermione asked, trying to sound braver than she felt right now. She was practically locked in a room with Draco Malfoy, Slytherin, Death Eater, and bully, and he was stripping naked in front of her. She was feeling less and less like a Gryffindor with each button that popped free of its probably hand-stitched hole.

                “Taking a shower, Granger,” Malfoy answered casually. “Unless you plan on joining me, I’d suggest you leave.”

                His shirt hit the floor and Hermione was transfixed by his pale, toned chest and dusty pink nipples, nestled in downy white curls. She followed some of those curls down the hills and valleys of his stomach until she saw his hands reach for the waistband of his sleep pants. Hermione quickly shoved Malfoy to the side, wrenched open the door and was gone, his laugh trailing behind her before he shut the door again.

                Hermione fumed as she stalked out of her dorm and down the hall towards the Prefect bathroom. How dare he? A gentleman would have…but he wasn’t really…or maybe he didn’t think of her as a lady worthy of…of course he didn’t…how dare he? By the time she was finished bathing and preparing for the first day of classes, she was in a right strop and ready for a fight.

                Too bad he was already gone when she arrived back at the dorm to return her bath kit. She resigned herself to having to wait until that evening to really let him have it and so shook it off and steeled herself to face the day ahead. First challenge: breakfast.

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                Draco woke pissed off after a restless night plagued by nightmares that were really memories. It was Granger’s fault that he had to relive _that_ night in his dreams. All her damn fault. And then she had the gall to wish him a _good morning_ and call _dibs_ on the shower? Fuck. That.

                He regretted his decision to close them into the bathroom together instantly, as it put him close enough to her to notice the freckles across her nose, the green flecks in her eyes, and that damned _smell_ that he was quickly associating with _her_. He was thankful for his baggy sleep pants as he was half-hard _before_ he started taking his clothes off and he got to witness her cheeks flush and her eyes widen at the sight of his bare chest.

                He was a Slytherin, though, and damned if he was going to let her get the best of him. So even though he wanted to shove her out of the room and lock himself in until he could get his body under control, he instead dropped his hands to his pants, fully intending on dropping them and showing her exactly what it meant to play with a snake.

                Luckily, or not so luckily, she had fled the battleground and left him to a cold shower, because there was no way in hell he was going to wank to thoughts of Granger. What the hell was happening to him that he found himself attracted to the crazy-haired, bossy swot that had made his life hell for 7 years, whether she knew it or not?

                _“A mudblood has bested a Malfoy? How…disappointing,” his father drawled, refusing to look at him or speak to him the entirety of winter hols his first year._

_“You let a filthy child raised by filthy muggles lay her hand on you? I thought I had sired a Malfoy son, but you are a disgrace to the Malfoy name.” This accompanied by a backhand to his face after third year when she had slapped him._

                So many other times he had been called a disgrace, a disappointment, all because of her and her friends. And after the Dark Lord… _Voldemort…_ had moved in, he prayed to go back to the days of isolation. Anything would have been better than the repeated rounds of _Crucio_ he had to endure every time word got back home that Hermione Fucking Granger had beat Draco Malfoy again. Couldn’t she have taken a break? Couldn’t she have just settled for something other than first in every Merlin damned thing she ever did?

                So, yeah, he turned the water to just this side of frozen and stubbornly refused to even acknowledge the heaviness between his legs until it gave up and went away. He washed himself on autopilot, or whatever the wizarding equivalent was since he was unfamiliar with the muggle term, and dried and dressed with a charm. He didn’t really want to look himself in the eye and so finger combed his hair and decided to go with the windswept, just fucked look the action gave him.

                Not wanting to see the insufferable pain in the arse that was Hermione Granger in close quarters, he high tailed it out of the dorm and down to breakfast, where he sat by himself at the end of the table, carefully and deliberately using _sectumsempra_ to slice a green apple into thin strips. If he reminded the others what he was capable of, then they might just leave him the fuck alone. They didn’t need to know he would never actually use the curse on them. They just needed to know that he _could_.

                He had just finished mutilating his apple when a familiar head of bushy brown hair came sauntering into the hall, like she hadn’t a care in the world. Except…except her smile was stuck to her face like she had been hit with a freezing charm, there on the surface but not reflected in her eyes. Her eyes darted around the room, taking in the stares, the pointed fingers, the sheer hero worship on the faces of her younger cohorts. It also very clearly noticed that her friends were tightly sat in the center of Gryffindor table, happily engaged in conversation, no spot obviously saved for her.

                Without missing a beat, the witch sat in the first empty seat she came to, as if it didn’t bother her that her supposed friends were happily moving on without her. Or that they didn’t even notice she had entered the room when every. Single. Other. Witch and Wizard. Noticed. They were freezing her out. But why?

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                Hermione stepped into the Great Hall, mentally prepared for the stares, the whispers, the poorly concealed looks of hero worship or hatred, depending on if Hermione was the savior of the wizarding world or the cause of a loved one’s demise. What she wasn’t quite prepared for was the absolute lack of attention she received from her...friends? She wasn’t particularly close to Dean or Seamus or the 6th year Gryffindors but she was definitely friends with Neville and Ginny and it hurt, just a little, that they seemed to be deliberately ignoring her. Almost like they had on the train ride.

She thought, at first, that they were merely trying to make her feel more comfortable by ignoring the stares and whispers around her and carrying on like Hermione Granger’s entrance into the Great Hall was no big deal. But then she noticed that there was no space saved for her in the clearly tightly knit group and that Neville’s eyes, when they darted to hers, were full of shame and apology, before they darted quickly away again. She brightened her smile and sat in the first spot she could, acting for all the world as if she had planned on sitting there all along, to be nearer the large bowl of fruit overflowing with apples conveniently located directly in front of where she sat.

She skinned and diced the apple with a quick spell, vanishing the core and skins with another before mixing the cubes of apple into a bowl of porridge she summoned herself from the kitchens. Stirring in brown sugar _accio’d_ from the other end of the table with a quick twirl of her finger and preparing a hot cuppa with the wave of her hand, she resolved to enjoy her breakfast, resolutely ignoring the awed silence at her expert use of wandless magic.

What she couldn’t quite ignore was the not quite whisper of “Show off, thinks she’s so great, probably in a right strop for not being named Head Girl, eh Gin?” that came floating down the table. She waited to hear the response of her best female friend, the girl who she had shared a room with at the Burrow every summer before term started, the girl who had given her advice about Ron and taken her advice about Harry, the girl she learned hair charms from and tutored in Potions. The girl who had been named Head Girl because she earned it, which Hermione had told her when she squealed in excitement and hugged her, assuring her she didn’t want it and McGonagall had definitely made the right choice.

“I think we’ll hold Quidditch tryouts earlier this year, give us more time to train any newbies in our maneuvers,” the fiery redhead answered, effectively changing the topic but very obviously _not_ defending Hermione to her circle of admirers.

For the sake of her sanity, Hermione chose to view it as Ginny simply being non-confrontational about it. She didn’t validate her friend’s comment and she didn’t alienate her friends either. So what if Ginny was as confrontational as they came? So what if Hermione would have set the record straight if the tables were turned? So what if, once upon a time, Ginny would have, too? Hermione was sure that later, maybe back in her room which was more private, Ginny would explain what the hell was going on. Ninety-nine percent sure. Okay, perhaps more like seventy-five percent sure. Whatever.

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                Draco watched his dorm mate’s casual use of wandless magic. Unlike his calculated use of magic with his own breakfast, hers seemed to be completely subconscious, the act of someone incredibly powerful and skilled and incredibly comfortable within their own magic. He was impressed. As, apparently were the ickle firsties and 2nd years she was surrounded by.

                Not so impressed was a spotty-faced twit sitting uncomfortably close to the she-weasel. Draco grinned internally as he waited for the fiery witch to tear the pimply prick apart, only for that grin to disappear when she merely changed the subject, not even looking in the direction of the other witch Draco had thought, up to that point, was like a sister to her.

 _Interesting,_ Draco thought, the Slytherin in him already thinking of how he could use this to his advantage later. The possibilities…! He chanced a glance at the thorn in his side and could tell by the stiff set of her shoulders that she was just as surprised as he was by her _friend’s_ actions. _Interesting, indeed_.

                “Being a blood traitor isn’t bad enough, Malfoy? Now you’re friends with Mudbloods? What’s next? Gonna fuck her? Have little bitty muddy babies?” Urquhart hissed in his ear. The seventh year had managed to avoid time in Azkaban next to his father merely because he had been in St. Mungo’s due to a difficult Quidditch injury during the final battle and apparently felt that his position at the top of the Slytherin food chain meant that he could speak to Draco however he pleased.

                “I severed a man’s hand once. It’s really no different than slicing an apple, when you get down to it. The trick is to slash quickly and precisely, you know, so they don’t have a chance to pull away.” Draco kept his voice level, almost as if he was having a polite conversation over afternoon tea. He didn’t even look at Urquhart, letting him know that he wasn’t even worth his full attention. To drive home his point, Draco sent a silent _sectumsempra_ towards the bowl of fruit between him and the Quidditch captain, slicing the shiny green apple at the top of the pile neatly in half. Only then did he flick his eyes towards the younger boy’s, one perfectly arched blonde brow raised in contempt.

                Urquhart’s normally sun-kissed complexion paled considerably and he darted his eyes left and right to see who was paying attention to the exchange. Seeing the eyes of a few interested snakes, the unofficial head of Slytherin sneered and spat a “Watch yourself, Malfoy” before picking up one half of the apple and biting into it, as if to convince the masses that it was _he_ and not Draco who had sliced it to begin with. If breakfast were any indication, the first day of classes was going to be hell, for both himself and the swotty lioness.

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                The day did not get better. McGonagall pulled all of the 8th years aside to discuss their schedules, as some of them had attended part, if not all of their 7th year already and desperately needed a do over, while others had not attended at all, and still others, namely Hermione, had far surpassed the 7th year curriculum. They each got their tailor made schedules and set about to their first classes of the day. Hermione was scheduled for advanced N.E.W.T level arithmancy first, followed by double advanced potions, lunch, and individual tuition in transfiguration and charms. She also had independent study in DADA and ancient runes and advanced study in astronomy and herbology.

Though Hermione loved arithmancy, the logic and complexity of it, she found herself easily distracted. The formulas and equations swam in her head, flitting together like puzzle pieces from a jumbo set meant for primary school children. Potions wasn’t much better. After spending a year brewing in less than ideal conditions with scraped together ingredients, the safety and security of the dungeon classroom was a bit of a letdown.

Her classes were boring, covering material she had long since mastered and not challenging her enough to keep her mind from wandering back to breakfast. She absentmindedly stirred her perfect Draught of Dreamless Sleep while trying to find something else to focus on besides her cool reception at breakfast. She thought back to that summer, when they were all finally free of a madman’s threats and trying desperately to forget the blood and death that marked them all. They had slept late in warm beds for the first time in nearly a year. They had eaten…and eaten… and eaten.

Days were spent lying in tall grass and talking about hopes and dreams of the future. Evenings were spent laughing around a dinner table, filling the space with tales of Fred, refusing to allow him and the laughter he brought to die, bringing George out of his depression one tale at a time. Late nights were spent sneaking past Harry on his way to Ginny while she was on her way to Ron. And then soft kisses and rough hands, murmured words of love that didn’t make it past the sweaty nights.

And through it all there had been Hermione and Ginny, sisters in all but name. Surely she had an explanation for breakfast, and the train. Surely. And there she was thinking about breakfast again. She didn’t want to think about it, wanted to give Ginny a chance before she jumped to conclusions or gave herself an ulcer thinking about it.

                It didn’t help that when she went to lunch the scene repeated like a bad case of déjà vu. There Ginny sat, surrounded by _Hermione’s_ year mates and her own friends, holding court like a queen, her Head Girl badge shimmering brighter than any crown. _Fuck waiting, you’re Hermione Fucking Granger._

                Hermione sauntered, head held high, down the aisle, stopping just behind Ginny and clearing her throat meaningfully. When the younger girl turned to look at whoever had dared to interrupt her riveting story about a one-on-one match with _the_ Harry Potter, Hermione arched a brow, and tilted her head towards the Great Hall door before calmly pivoting on her heel and strolling right back out, not bothering to check if the other girl followed.

                She didn’t.

                And wasn’t that telling enough?

                Hermione waited, in case Ginny had to make her excuses to her friends, maintain her cover, but the girl never showed. Used to loss and disappointment, Hermione shrugged, refusing to cry, and turned towards the hall that led to the kitchens, intent on getting lunch away from the drama she didn’t need.

               Unbeknownst to her, a certain platinum-haired Slytherin had followed her out, disillusioned, of course.

              "Some friends you got there, Granger. Looks like you don't have anything to lose either, huh?"


	4. Clearing the Air

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Ginny have a chat. Things get a little flirtier.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who were worried about potential Weasley bashing...shorter than my usual chapters but it clears things up so I figured it was as good a place as any to stop and post.

Chapter 4: Clearing the Air

                “Piss off, Malfoy,” Granger snarled, echoing his words from that morning.

                “Ooh, not very nice at all,” Draco jeered. “Why the big freeze? I thought Gryffindors were all about love and loyalty?”

                “Did you even listen to the sorting song? Daring, bravery and chivalry. Gryffindors are passionate and emotional, quick to anger and able to hold a grudge. Loyalty belongs in Hufflepuff. And Slytherin, funnily enough. Now, piss off… please.”

                Draco found himself standing outside the Great Hall quite alone before he had formed his next thought. He watched for a moment as uncontrollable toffee curls disappeared around the corner before he took off after the petite witch.

                “Hey, where are you going? Is there food? How do you move so fast with such short legs?”

                Neither noticed the redhead watching from the Great Hall door, eyebrows furrowed in confusion, hurt, and worry.

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                Hermione tickled the pear and stepped into the kitchen with Malfoy hot on her heels. As if her day wasn’t bad enough, she had to deal with the aggravation of Malfoy, who had apparently made it his mission to get on her. Last. Damn. Nerve. He had kept up a running dialogue throughout the journey to the kitchens, speculating as to why the “she-weasel” and her gaggle of admirers might be ignoring Hermione. He kept spitting out more and more outrageous ideas, from Hermione and Harry hooking up last year (no way in hell), to Ginny being the cause of Hermione’s break up with Ron (she didn’t even know about it yet), just waiting for a reaction that would tell him he had figured it out. Well, she wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of riling her. Besides, she didn’t know the reason for Ginny’s behavior.

                “Hello,” she addressed the elves. “I’m sorry for being a bother but may I have a plate, please?”

                The elves stared at her for a moment before one silently handed her a plate and resumed his…her…its duties. Hermione started filling her plate from the various platters scattered around the kitchen, Malfoy watching her in amazement from the doorway.

                “I didn’t know you could do that,” he muttered, annoyed that there was yet something else she knew that he didn’t. “Granger, what do I have to do to get a plate? I’m starving.”

                “Ask nicely,” Hermione quipped, tickled at the thought of Malfoy saying ‘please’ to a house elf.

                “Excuse me?”

                Hermione was about to repeat herself when she caught sight of Malfoy out of the corner of her eye, bent low to speak to a wizened elf with ears so long they brushed his elbows.

                “May I trouble you for a plate?” Malfoy asked, voice dripping with courtly manners he certainly had never wasted on her. “Thank you,” he said with a bow of his head as the elf conjured him one. He met her eyes and smirked as he began to pile his plate high with fruits, cheeses, and cold cuts.

                Decision made, Hermione levitated her plate and a goblet of pumpkin juice behind her head and stood, arms crossed and spine ramrod straight. She waited for Malfoy to turn towards her before speaking.

               “Look, as enjoyable as this little foray to the kitchens has been, I’m going to go eat somewhere…quieter. Follow or don’t, that’s up to you but if you come with me then there are some ground rules. First, no talking about my friends. Second, no talking about the war. Third, my name is Hermione, not beaver, swot, mudblood, insufferable know-it-all, or whatever else you might let come out of that snarky mouth of yours.”

                Malfoy stood hip cocked, not a care in the world, eyes raised to the ceiling as if in deep thought. Finally, the corner of his lip lifted and his eyebrow arched. “Sure, kitten, lead the way.”

              “No. Absolutely not. You will not call me ‘kitten’ like we’re…we’re….” Hermione spluttered. Honestly, the nickname smacked of an intimacy they didn’t have. Wouldn’t have. Ever. Probably. _Definitely not_.

             “Like we’re…? Friends? More than friends?” Malfoy teased. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, sweetheart. Didn’t mean anything by it.”

             “Then why call me that?” Hermione gritted. _Damn he was annoying._

             “Because when you’re angry you remind me of a cute little kitten, fur all puffed up, claws out, trying to be bigger than you are.”

_Okay, so that wasn’t…terrible. Still…_

            “Let’s just stick with ‘Hermione’ or ‘Granger’, shall we?” she asked, trying to keep in control of the situation and not altogether comfortable with the idea of her former nemesis _(one chat on a train and he’s already a former?)_ calling her by a pet name.

            “Whatever you say, kitten,” Malfoy replied, all feigned innocence and barely there smirk.

            “You aren’t going to let that go, are you?” Hermione asked, already resigned to it and mentally conceding that at least it was better than any of the alternatives.

           “Nope,” came the response, smirk full-blown and soft lips popping the ‘p’.

            “Fine, peacock, let’s go.” Hermione laughed as his smirk turned to a distasteful sneer. The consummate Slytherin though, his smile returned quickly.

           “Well if you want to call me a cock, you could have just come out and said so. No need to dress it up, Granger. Unless you’re too much of a prude to say ‘cock’,” Malfoy drawled in a voice she hadn’t realized had gotten so deep.

           Hermione smirked at his use of ‘Granger’ instead of ‘kitten’. And at the fact he thought her some kind of prude. Hermione Granger was a strong woman who believed in independence and equality for all. That extended to sexual equality and freedom. To each their own, was her policy.

          She arched a delicate brow, licked her lips slowly and, when she was sure she had his undivided attention, voice dripping with honey, said, “Cock. Prick. Dick. I also know pussy, cunt, and twat, if you were curious. Now, can we go? I’m starving and lunch will be ending soon.”

         “Uh…yeah…yeah, lunch, right,” Malfoy stammered, shaking his head as if to clear it.

         Hermione grinned and turned on her heel, her lunch following dutifully behind her as she headed towards her new dorm, the only place she could be sure would be empty and quiet. Malfoy followed her like a puppy.

          He must have regained his senses by the time they made it to the main staircase because the arrogance was back in his voice when he called out, “I didn’t know you had it in you, kitten.”

          Determined to win this battle, as she had won almost every battle between herself and the Slytherin, she looked coyly over her should and replied with a cheeky wink, “Your cock? I can’t say I’ve had the pleasure.”

          “What the hell is going on here?” shrieked a familiar voice.

           Hermione whipped around to come face to face with Ginny, face red enough to blend in with her hair and eyes flashing. She chanced a quick look towards Malfoy, only to see him beating a hasty retreat down the hall. _Coward_.

          “I could ask the same of you, Ginevra.”

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                Draco left the girls to their little chat and carried his lunch to a nearby alcove to eat. And eavesdrop. Of course. He was curious and always on the lookout for information that might prove useful in the future. Hello…Slytherin.

               “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Hermione,” the redheaded witch was saying, her tone obviously saying she knew _exactly_ what the brunette meant.

_Gryffindors…no subtlety at all. Pathetic._

               “Breakfast. Lunch. The train. I must have missed something because yesterday morning we were sisters and by yesterday afternoon I apparently became persona non grata with my own year mates and you.”

               “Well what do you expect when you’re chumming it up with a Death Eater? I saw you on the map…”

_Map?_

                “You followed me on the map? So much for trust, Ginny. I thought we were friends.”

 _Was Granger going to cry?_ The thought, strangely, upset Draco. He refused to think it was because the last time he had seen her cry was as his aunt was torturing her in his drawing room.

               “Well, what was I supposed to do? I come to find you on the train and who do I see in your compartment? Draco FUCKING Malfoy!”

_Middle name is Lucius, actually._

_“_ I figured he was bothering you but then…then!...I hear you tell him he can stay! And. He. Does! Thank God for extendable ears because without them I wouldn’t have heard you tell him how damned _attractive_ he is! I left after that. I didn’t need to hear any more.”

_She said ‘pretty’, Weaslette, if we’re getting technical._

              “Then, I check the map because I don’t know where your dorm is and I want to talk to you and what do I see? I see you and _him_ and you’re standing in front of your bedroom door and he’s practically _on top_ of you. I couldn’t look any more. I couldn’t bear to see him go into your room, stay the night. I checked this morning, sure that I had to have been imagining things because there is no way that my best friend, my sister, Hermione Granger would do my brother, the love of her life, wrong like that and you’re sharing a bathroom with him! And now…NOW…you’re eating lunch together, IN PRIVATE, and he’s calling you ‘kitten’ and you’re talking about HIS COCK!”

_Seriously, what was this map?_

            “Well, if you’re quite done making a spectacle of yourself, perhaps you’ll allow me to explain? Or do I not get to talk? You certainly didn’t seem interested in talking to me during lunch when I tried to have this conversation.”

_That’s right, kitten, shift some of that blame on over._

            “You mean when you lifted your chin and _commanded_ me to follow you like a servant? Did you expect me to drop everything, conversation, friends, _lunch_ and hop along behind the girl who was slagging around behind my brother’s back?”

_Okay, so the she-weasel had a bit of a point. Granger is a bit high-handed. Wait, didn’t Granger and Weasel split up?_

          “I expected my friend to trust me, give me the benefit of the doubt, and talk to me. Better yet, maybe try listening to me.”

          “And what argument could you possibly have that would make any of this okay? Ron loves you. He wants to marry you and have a family with you and a future. You are his whole world. He would be devastated if he knew what you were doing. He would…”

         “He broke up with me the day before term started, Ginny.” Granger’s voice was definitely huskier than usual, like she was fighting back tears and losing.

         Silence. Draco wished he could see what was going on, see their faces. Unfortunately he was stuck imagining them and waiting for the silence to end.

         “What? But you two are…”

         “Better off as friends, not going in the same direction, not on the same page about what we wanted in a family and the future. He would only hold me back. I’m too ambitious. I don’t relax enough. We have nothing in common. I make him feel inferior, even if I don’t mean to. I’m too damned smart. He loves me and he wasn’t lying all the times he said it after we spent the night together but he could never be what I really needed and I would grow to resent him. I was better off without him. His words, Ginny, not mine, right before he and Harry left for training camp.” She was definitely crying now.

_Always knew he was an idiot but I never thought he was cruel. What does she mean ‘spent the night’? Surely she didn’t sleep with the wanker because he told her he loved her? Oldest trick in the book._

                “I didn’t know. I’m sorry. My brother is an idiot, ‘Mione, and I’ll hex him into next week the next time I see him. But Malfoy? What, are you getting revenge by sleeping with the guy he hates the most in the whole world?”

                _Sleeping with me? Definitely not. I don’t even like her. Much. She’s bossy and a swot and a pain in my ass since first year. Her hair is awful and it would probably strangle me in my sleep. Why would she think we were sleeping together? Definitely not interested in that. Really. Her lips do make such a lovely O when she says ‘cock’ though. And all that pent up fire would surely transfer well to the bedroom….No! Don’t think about that, Draco._

“He did come in the compartment and I did tell him he could stay. He had nowhere else to go and it’s easy enough to ignore him. I did say he was relatively attractive-“

                _Pretty, kitten, you said I was pretty. Easy to ignore? We’ll have to see about that._

                “-but then I kicked him out when he acted like a prick again.”

_I like how she says ‘prick’. Not as good as ‘cock’ but I can imagine how her lips pucker on the ‘p’._

_“_ He had me up against my door trying to intimidate me and we were fighting over who got to take a shower first this morning. He followed me to the kitchens, uninvited, and since nobody else would even look at me, I figured why not eat with him. At least then I wouldn’t be alone. He calls me ‘kitten’ to aggravate me and because I apparently resemble a hissing cat when I’m angry. We are definitely not sleeping together and I’m not out to get revenge on Ron because he was right. He could have handled it better but in all he was exactly right about me and about us. So now here we are, in the middle of the entry way, seconds away from the end of lunch, and I haven’t eaten a thing and I’ve a headache from crying and I just want my only real girlfriend to hug me and be my sister again.”

_Well, the good bit is over, it seems. Now it’s just the girly, emotional shit._

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                Hermione was sure her face was red and blotchy, like it always was when she had a really good cry, and she couldn’t breathe out of one of her nostrils. Ginny had finally calmed down and the angry flush was receding from her freckled skin. Tears were falling down her eyes now as well and the younger witch quickly stepped forward and wrapped Hermione in her arms, apologizing into her hair and rubbing soothing circles on her back.

                The doors to the Great Hall burst open and the hall was soon filled with students rushing to their next class, some pausing to take in the scene of the two friends embracing. Hermione saw Malfoy slip into the throng from an alcove within earshot of where she and Ginny were standing and immediately knew he had heard their entire conversation. She would have to teach him a lesson about eavesdropping.

                Later. For now she was just happy to have her friend back. And hungry. She pulled back from the hug, wiped at her face with the sleeve of her robe, and grabbed her hovering plate out of the air. She would have to eat on the way to her private tutorial in transfiguration. She bid her friend farewell, smiling at the promise of a get together in the Gryffindor dorm that evening, and headed off to meet with Headmistress McGonagall.


	5. Healing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione confronts Draco about listening in to her conversation. Draco meets with McGonagall. There is a confrontation between Draco and those who take offense to his ability to walk on his own. Hermione lends a helping hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry I haven't updated in almost two weeks. Life and working on another story. What can you do?

Chapter 5: Healing

                Hermione’s afternoon lessons were a bit better than her morning as she was in one-on-one sessions with McGonagall and Flitwick, both of whom told her they were going to help her choose a project that would showcase her skills and essentially act as mentors more so than professors. That was fine with Hermione. She would choose a topic and have bi-monthly progress meetings instead of thrice weekly “classes”. That freed up her afternoons 3 days out of the week and gave her the opportunity to do something that might actually interest her and keep her mind busy.

                She had a few free hours before dinner and decided that what she really needed was a nap. Nightmares and strange confrontations with “reformed” Slytherins were not conducive to good sleep. Walking into her dorm she stopped short at the sight of Malfoy, said “reformed Slytherin”, robes off, shirtsleeves rolled up until a hint of his Mark peeked out, and shoeless, sprawled across the couch, fast asleep with his arm thrown over his face. Embarrassed by what he had no doubt overheard (and why hadn’t she thought of casting a _muffliato?)_ and a bit ashamed of herself for flirting with _Malfoy_ , of all people, she tried creeping past him to get to her room. She took one tentative step. Another. She raised her foot and -

                “You’d have made a terrible Slytherin, kitten,” Malfoy grumbled from underneath his arm. “You might try cushioning charms on your feet and silencing charms on your…everything else, really. I swear I can hear your hair moving.”

                Malfoy sat up, stretching his arms above his head and yawning so hard his jaw popped. She refused to find it charming. Just like she refused to be charmed by his perfect head of hair sticking up in every direction. Or by the way he called her ‘kitten’ in a sleep-husky voice. Or by the sliver of pale skin that came into view when his shirt rode up as he stretched his arms just that little bit higher.

                “And thank God for that!” she shot back. “Did you forget your password or something, peacock?” she asked, waving her hand haphazardly towards his bedroom.

                “I only sat down for a minute. I didn’t sleep well last night. I guess it just caught up to me,” Malfoy answered, not objecting to her term of _not_ endearment as she had hoped he would, and flopping back onto the couch as if the mere act of sitting up and stretching was more work than his body could handle. “So I guess you and Weaslette are pax again,” he probed.

                “Don’t act like you weren’t listening, Malfoy,” Hermione snapped. “Go ahead then. What are you going to torment me with today? I’m sure there will be something in there about being too much of a bookworm, falling for empty words meant to get into my knickers, being too boring for Ronald Weasley whose only interests lie in quidditch, chess, and filling his stomach. I’m tired so if we could just get this over with so I can take a nap, I’d appreciate it.”

                Malfoy just stared at her from under the white crescent of his eyelashes for a long moment. He seemed to be contemplating something, the best insult perhaps. Finally, he sat up slowly, like he had made a decision but wasn’t too keen on it. He sighed, slipped his shoes back on, ran his hand through his messy hair and stood up. After a quick stretch in which his back noticeably cracked, he took a few steps towards her, casually rolling his sleeves back down, until he stood close…very close. It was like last night, except this time she met his eyes, chin held high and eyebrow arched.

                “Weasley is an idiot. Like I said on the train, you are too good for the ginger git.”

                “You didn’t say that on the train,” Hermione argued. “You questioned if I could see myself married to him with children. That isn’t the same thing at all.”

                “It is if you’re meant for things bigger and better than changing nappies and stroking his…ego. Like I said, terrible Slytherin. You gotta learn to read between the lines, kitten.” And with that, Malfoy stepped to the side, sliding past her and grabbing his robe off a hook by the door. “I’ve got private tuition until dinner. Enjoy your nap.” And he was gone.

                Hermione was dumbfounded. Did Malfoy just compliment her? How did they go from hated enemies to practically civil? She conveniently “forgot” about their innuendo-filled lunch conversation, chalking it up to loneliness or an ingrained need to defy expectations or…something. Temporary insanity? Exhaustion? Yeah, exhaustion would work and wasn’t a complete lie.

                Hermione toed off her shoes, shrugged off her robe and collapsed onto the couch, fitting neatly into the groove left by Malfoy’s body, though she refused to think about that. She tucked her hands under her cheek, curled her legs up, and let the residual body heat lull her to sleep.

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                Draco arrived at the transfiguration classroom without a second to spare. He wasn’t looking forward to this. He didn’t have the luxury of escaping the year of the Carrows. His mother thought he would be safer at school than at the manor with _him_ and so he had been here, where the days were literally torture, and he was sure the old tabby wasn’t one to forgive and forget.

                His not so pleasant breakfast had been followed by a schedule of classes that was odd, to say the least. It seemed the new Headmistress had rewritten the timetable completely and arranged classes that had mixed year-levels, fifth through seventh, according to ability and needs. It made a weird sort of sense, since the last year had been such a clusterfuck. First came Ancient Runes where Professor Babbling had ignored his outstretched hand every time he offered it until he simply stopped offering it. Then came double Charms, the class he hated the most as it came too easily and seemed a bit trite. Flitwick hadn’t spoken to him or even looked at him, even when he deliberately pulled a Seamus Finnegan and caused a minor explosion in the vinegar he was meant to turn into wine. And then the fiasco that was the lunch hour and flirting, _flirting_ , with Hermione Granger, his hissing kitten.

                _His? What the hell are you thinking, Draco?_

                He reminded himself that he had survived much worse than the stern Scot and knocked resolutely on the door. It clicked open and he strode confidently inside, ready to face whatever McGonagall was going to dish out. She stood at the front of the room, arms crossed behind her back and mouth in a stern, flat line.

                “Mr. Malfoy, take a seat,” the old bird commanded in lieu of a greeting.

                _Why, yes, I would like a cup of tea. And how was your summer? Mine? Well, I spent mine sitting in trials for my parents and myself and dealing with aurors raiding my home and burning or confiscating anything and everything that ‘dark magic’ ever touched, which meant pretty much everything from family heirlooms to the silverware. Oh, and selling off a lot of Malfoy things to pay reparations so I could stay out of Azkaban. Thanks so much for asking._

                Draco sat at the table closest to McGonagall’s desk and waited. He didn’t have to wait long before an assortment of items came floating over to his table, arranging themselves in a specific order. In a straight line across the surface of the table was a match, a beetle in a jar, a teapot, a small hedgehog in a cage, and a dinner plate.

                “You might recognize the items in front of you, Mr. Malfoy.” McGonagall arched an imperious brow.

                “They are all items we had to transfigure each year first through sixth,” Draco answered succinctly. _Suck on that lemon, you sour old bag._

                “Correct,” the headmistress responded. “Well…go on then.”

                Draco sighed, pulled out his wand and began the task of transfiguring matchsticks to needles, beetles to buttons, and so on. His tortoise had an unfortunate pattern of English roses along its shell, but he felt he showed himself well. Until he heard the professor sigh, a sound so full of disappointment he might have mistaken it as coming from the mouth of Lucius Malfoy himself.

                He looked up towards the front of the room, expecting to see the Scotswoman, but was surprised to find himself alone. He whipped his head side to side in case he had missed her moving about. And then he glanced under the tables in case she had transfigured into her cat form. She hadn’t. He even looked for the telltale shimmer of a disillusionment charm. Nothing.

                _Great. Now what?_

He couldn’t leave; he still had nearly forty minutes of tuition time left. He decided to wait it out until either his time was up or the professor turned up. That lasted about ten minutes before he grew bored. His needle turned back into a matchstick. Then he transfigured it into a hat pin and back again. His beetle/button became a bright red ruby, then a marble, which he rolled across the table before transfiguring it and trapping it in the jar once more. He changed the pattern on his tortoise’s shell from roses to spots, tiger stripes to paisley. He was just about to transfigure his hedgehog pincushion into a cactus when he heard it. A slow clap.

                McGonagall stood beside her desk once more, stern mouth lifted slightly at the corners. “Very good, Mr. Malfoy,” she praised. “It seems I might be able to work with you after all.”

                “Pardon?” Draco asked, a bit confused.

                “I won’t use my precious time for just anyone who can follow standard curriculum. I require someone who has creativity and a natural talent for transfiguration. I am a busy woman, after all, Mr. Malfoy.” She was standing almost directly in front of him now.

                “Require someone for what, Professor?” he asked, curious yet wary.

                “For an apprentice,” she replied not unkindly. “Miss Granger is doing something of a senior project to showcase her skills, already far beyond what we could teach her here. You, however, have the potential but require more attention. I thought an apprenticeship, where you can learn and practice but aren’t actually attending classes with your house, might suit.”

                An apprenticeship? Apprenticed to McGonagall, one of the best in her field, behind only the true greats like Albus Dumbledore? Not sitting in classes memorizing lines and turning toads into tea cozies?

                “That sounds acceptable, Professor,” he responded, prim and proper and as lacking in emotion as he could muster. He was a Slytherin after all and it never did one well to show too much enthusiasm and give others something to hold over you.

                “I thought it might. Now, Professor Slughorn has asked to see you before dinner. When you return Friday, I’ll have an apprenticeship contract drawn up and we can discuss your duties and my expectations.”

                Draco stood, wished McGonagall a good day and walked numbly through the halls towards the dungeons. Someone was going to actually teach him? He stood a chance of actually being able to _do_ something with his life after Hogwarts. Before now, he felt no one would give him the time of day, N.E.W.T’s or not, because of his father and the mark on his arm. But as an apprentice, to McGonagall, no less, he might actually have people asking _him_ to work for _them_. And Merlin knew he would need a job. The Malfoy vault wasn’t empty, by any means, but it certainly wasn’t full enough to keep him in luxury the rest of his life.

                He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice he had gained a shadow. Rather, multiple shadows that stalked along behind him until he passed a dark alcove whereby another shadow reached out and grabbed him and his followers hastily closed in the gap, effectively locking him in the small space and surrounding him on all sides. They wore masks, because of course they wore masks, and they were smart enough not to speak so he couldn’t identify them. They were in the dungeons so they were very likely Slytherins but he couldn’t rule out a group of Gryffindors having the balls.

                Draco did his best to _not_ do his worst, tightening his muscles to absorb the blows, covering his head, ducking and dodging, and using physical instead of magical means of defending himself. His attackers seemed to want to merely beat the hell out of him and so he threw punches, knees, and elbows as best he could in the small space, outnumbered and quickly overcome. They left him there, hanging onto consciousness by a thread. He hobbled to his feet, when he could think straight again, and took stock of his injuries. He was sure his ribs were cracked and he didn’t even want to know what his face looked like.

                Deciding that old Sluggy could damn well wait, he turned and headed back towards his dorm, where he could apply some bruise paste, swallow a pain potion and assess the damage to the rest of him in peace. Going to the hospital wing didn’t even cross his mind, as he was sure the matron would give him the same treatment he could administer himself and not a single spell or potion more. The difference was that he wasn’t likely to report back to McGonagall that he had been in a fight, something that was strictly against his probationary rules. He just hoped Granger was napping in her room or already gone, since he couldn’t see her not getting on her Gryffindor high horse and insisting he report the attack, never thinking that he might be considered the guilty party and punished accordingly.

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                Hermione was not in her room, nor was she gone. She was still asleep on the couch. That is, until Malfoy stumbled into the room, crashing to the floor and groaning rather pitifully. She shot up and scrambled to his side, gasping when she saw his face. It was a mottled mess of purple bruises, red abrasions and black smudges under his eyes, a sure sign of a broken nose. She was pretty sure one of his ridiculously high cheekbones was broken as well. What little skin left of his face that wasn’t bruised and swollen was covered in blood. She wasn’t too terribly worried, since she knew that head and facial wounds bled disproportionately to their size and she only a few small lacerations here and there and nothing truly serious.

                “No…hospital,” Draco huffed. “No…hospital…please.”

                “And why the hell not?” she demanded to know. “I’m not a healer, Malfoy.”

                “Please,” he begged, eyes swimming with pain. “Brightest…witch…of our…age. You can…help. Please.”

                Reaching a decision, she levitated him to the couch and summoned her beaded bag from her room. Reaching shoulder deep into it, she pulled out a small box, potions nestled lovingly inside. As she leaned over him, bracing her hand on the couch by his side, he moaned deeply in pain and that’s when she realized his injuries weren’t just to his face. Never hesitating, she magically divested him of his clothing, down to his underwear, and cast a diagnostic charm, matching internal injuries to external bruises.

_Episkey for his nose._

_Bone mending potion for the fractured cheek bone and cracked ribs._

_Dittany, ingested, for the tear in his spleen, and Merlin knows what caused that, and the lacerations to his face._

_Bruise paste…obviously…for pretty much everywhere._

_Pain potion. Again, obviously._

                Plan in place, Hermione got to work, pouring pain potion and dittany down his throat, glad he was still semi-conscious and able to swallow on his own. An _episkey_ and bone mending came next. And then there was nothing left to do except spread bruise paste on him. On his body. On his lean, toned body with the alabaster skin that was nearly translucent and the corded muscles and the little trail of curly golden hair leading from his navel down into the waistband of his underwear. His black, silk underwear which clung lovingly to his…

                _Hermione, get a grip. And not on his dick! What is wrong with you, ogling a man who is in such a state? Ogling_ Malfoy _of all people!_

                Hermione cleared her throat, shook out her shoulders and grabbed the jar. Reminding herself to remain professional, she gathered a glob of paste on her fingers and started with his face, tracing his forehead where a laceration over his left eye was healing, but leaving a ghastly yellow-green bruise behind. His cheekbones and the bridge of his nose were next and then she gathered a bit more paste for a swollen purple patch along his jaw line before smoothing her fingertips along his pillowy lips, a red abrasion marring one side and a split perfectly down the center.

                He moaned and her eyes shot to his. They were heavy lidded, almost like he was barely hanging on to consciousness but the blown pupils and the fire behind them showed that he was very much awake. He blinked and the moment passed. She gathered more paste and moved on to the large bruise along his ribcage. It took quite a bit of her small jar to cover all the bruises along his torso, especially as she had to roll him to his side so she could lean over him and get a few bruises along his back. She wished she had thought to roll him towards the back of the couch instead of towards herself as she had to determinedly pretend that she couldn’t feel his warm breath traveling down the opening of her blouse as she leaned over his chest to get to a bruise along his shoulder blade.

              She also tried valiantly to ignore the scars she felt there. They all had scars and unless he wanted to talk to her about his, she wouldn’t bring them up. It was a bit harder to stay impassive when she got to a particularly nasty looking bruise along his lower back, between two dimples and just above his very firm, very nicely rounded ass.

                _Good lord, when did he get such a tight…Hermione, focus!_

                She rolled him to his back once more and took stock of the damage to his lower body. He had a good sized bruise along the top of his right thigh, as if he had been kicked by a horse, but otherwise his legs seemed to be undamaged. She tried to ignore the way the sparse, coarse hair on his leg felt on her fingertips, and the way the muscles of his thigh bunched and rolled, like waves on a choppy sea. When she got to the outside edge of the bruise, slightly towards the inside of his thigh, where the coarse hair gave way to soft, smooth skin, he moaned again. She determinedly did not look into his eyes. Instead, she capped the jar of paste, cleansed her hands with a spell, and made quite the production of putting her potions away in their little box, easily stowed back inside her bag.

                “Hermione,” Malfoy called softly as Hermione stood to retreat into her room.

                She stopped in her tracks, a little lost as to what to think of him calling her by her name. She didn’t turn towards him, however, not wanting to see him lying resplendent and practically naked on the couch. She made an inquisitive sound in the back of her throat and fiddled with her bag, as if distracted by something inside it.

                “Please don’t tell anyone about this. They won’t believe I had nothing to do with it. My probation…” he trailed off, as if he didn’t have the words to say or didn’t want to say the words he had.

                “Who did it?” she asked, still so damned distracted by her bag she couldn’t possibly turn and look at him, see the vulnerability on his face that she could clearly hear in his voice.

                “I don’t know,” he answered. “They wore masks and hoods. Didn’t speak.”

                “Well, I know what that feels like,” Hermione retorted. “I won’t say anything, Draco. Rest now; you need it. I’ll bring you something from the Great Hall.”

                “Thank you. Really. I don’t know how I can repay you.”

                “Don’t worry about it. I’m not a Slytherin. I don’t need to be repaid for basic human decency. Anyone would have done the same,” Hermione insisted.

                She gathered up her own clothing, discarded before her nap, and headed for the door. As she was passing through the portrait hole she was sure she heard him say, “No, kitten, not for me they wouldn’t have.”


	6. Getting Better Acquainted

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione and Draco get a little bit closer than either really intended.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for how long it has taken to update. Real life is pretty messed up right now. They say bad things always come in 3's and they weren't kidding. First my 3 year old neice needed emergency surgery to remove a giant cyst from her throat that was threatening to suffocate her. Then I get the news that I need to fly north to say my goodbyes to my aunt who apparently has had terminal cancer for awhile and never bothered to tell anyone that her treatments weren't working. And then we get a call that my husband's uncle isn't responding well to dialysis, is in the throes of heart failure, and has a raging infection they can't treat and there isn't anything they can do but make him comfortable and wait for his heart to finally give out. I pray to God this is it and there isn't any more bad news waiting around. I don't know if I can take any more right now! 
> 
> Thank you for your continued patience.

Chapter 6: Getting Better Acquainted

                Hermione left Malfoy to his own devices and met up with Ginny in the Great Hall, trying hard not to stare at the Slytherin table until she figured out who had attacked the blonde. She piled her plate high with food, ignoring the raised eyebrows of her housemates at such an uncharacteristic action, and kept up conversation with her friends easily enough, occasionally banishing a helping of this or a bit of that to be recalled later. Nobody seemed to notice her sleight of hand and for that she was grateful. She didn’t want to explain to anybody why she was making a plate for Draco Malfoy.

                At the conclusion of the meal, Hermione waved her friends off, promising to stop by later to visit their common room and making vague allusions to needing something from somewhere. She knew they would all assume she was going to the library, seemingly unable to make it a full day in the castle without at least visiting her favorite revision spot. She didn’t correct them, instead reiterating her promise to visit the tower that evening and heading towards the stairs that led to her dorm.

                As she entered the hallway leading to her new accommodations, she summoned the food that she had squirreled away and conjured a plate for it all, warming it with a thought. She was not surprised to see Malfoy asleep on the couch, he did need a good healing rest after all. She was a bit put off that he had not covered up or redressed. The sight of his toned alabaster skin and the striking contrast of the black slash of his underwear had her normally golden skin reddening like a Weasley’s. She refused to identify her blush as one of prudish embarrassment or misplaced attraction and, in fact, resolved to ignore it completely.

                Casting a _stasis_ on his meal, she placed it on the table in front of him and, for her own peace of mind, transfigured a sock into a throw blanket, tossing it over his chest and legs and sighing in relief as all that pale, muscular skin with its light dusting of golden hair was once again hidden from her view. She didn’t understand how 24 hours could so completely change the way she thought of the git and couldn’t wait to go visit her housemates and put some distance between herself and this odd situation. Maybe that was all she needed to regain her equilibrium and her perspective.

                Gathering up a change of clothes, muggle jeans and one of Ron’s soft, old t-shirts that was too big for her but ridiculously comfortable and allowed her to go without a bra, and her bath kit, she headed into the tiny room to wash away the stresses of the day, silencing the room so as not to awaken the beaten boy on the couch. The hot water felt amazing on her tensed muscles and she stood for a long time just letting it beat down on her neck and shoulders, sluicing over her collarbones and between the valley of her breasts, dripping steadily off the points of her nipples and running in a steady stream over the hills and valleys of her torso and down between her thighs.

                She moaned at the sensation, thankful for silencing charms, and let her fingers follow the trek the water had taken. She didn’t normally indulge but it had been a stressful couple of days and she had gotten used to regular orgasms over the summer and that, coupled with her somewhat flirtatious interactions with Malfoy and the memory of his ridiculously tight body, had her feeling a little itchy under her skin. Her right hand found her quim, fingers dipping into silky wetness, while her left squeezed one breast, rolling and pinching the stiffened nipple.

                Hermione circled her distended clit with the tips of her fingers, feeling the slight calluses from a year living off the land, and wondering what Malfoy had thought of them when she ran her hands over his bare skin. A picture of said skin was enough to shake her out of her aroused state.

                _What the hell, Hermione? Yesterday morning you didn’t think twice about the git unless you were cursing his existence and now you think about_ him _while…no, absolutely not._

                Shaking her head to clear it, she angrily grabbed her bottle of shampoo and made quick work of showering and dressing, throwing her hair up on top of her head and just barely restraining herself from flinging open the bathroom door in her frustration. She needn’t have bothered trying to be stealthy, as the cause of her frustration was not only awake, but standing at her bedroom door.

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                Draco watched Hermione leave before his eyes became too heavy to keep open and he succumbed to a healing sleep, noticing before he lost consciousness that the couch was warm and smelled like vanilla and coffee and _her_.

                When he awoke again it was to the delicious smell of roast chicken, fluffy mash nigh smothered in brown gravy, honeyed carrots, peas, a yeasty dinner roll, a chilled goblet of pumpkin juice, and a slice of blackberry pie all held under a stasis charm. He slowly sat up, assessing his body for residual aches and pains. They were there, of course. Even with potions, nothing healed perfectly in only a few hours. But he made it upright and reached gingerly for the roll, just barely containing his sneer when he didn’t find any butter on his tray.

                He polished off his meal in record time and debated knocking on her door to thank her. He didn’t really _do_ gratitude, being a spoiled brat and more than a bit of an arsehole. But he was trying to turn over a new leaf, or whatever, and he did owe her for not ratting him out, and she didn’t have to heal him, keep his secrets, or feed him. And she was the only person currently speaking to him and he kind of wanted to keep it that way so…

                Swallowing his pride, he gingerly got to his feet, groaning just a bit at the stabbing pain in his side, and schooled his features to the haughtiest, snobbiest, purebloodiest he could manage. And, yes, he was aware that wasn’t a word but by Merlin it damned well should be! Moments later he was dressed again in shirt and trousers and rapping smartly on her door. And waiting. And waiting. And getting very annoyed at being kept waiting.

                “Granger?” he called, listening for movement on the other side of the door but hearing none. “Granger, I have something to say to you; come out.” When his superior Malfoy command went unheeded he employed his silkiest Lucius-like purr. “Granger, don’t you want to hear what I have to say? It might be important.” And when that yielded no results he took a deep breath, put some gravel in his voice and growled, “Kitten, if you don’t open this door right now I’m going to break it down. You are being very rude right now and I. Do. Not. Appreciate. It.” Nothing. “Hermione…please open the door.”

                “How long do you think you might’ve stood there before figuring out I wasn’t in the room.”

                Draco spun towards the bathroom door, spotting the girl he had been trying to reach standing in a cloud of steam, hair pulled up in a messy knot, damp curls falling around her face, and dressed in a loose top thin as tissue paper and muggle jeans so tight he was tempted to see if they were actually painted on. Her feet were bare and he could just make out a flash of red on their tips.

                “How long have you been standing there? Why didn’t I hear the shower running? How long have you been standing there? Why are you dressed like that? How long have…”

                “Since you tried to sound like your father. Close, but not quite, by the way. I placed a silencing charm on the room so the sound wouldn’t wake you. And how I’m dressed is none of your concern but if you _must_ know, I’m going to the Gryffindor common room.”

                She stepped out of the bathroom completely and headed towards him… towards her room…on her red-tipped bare feet and waves of fragrant vanilla. He was momentarily distracted by the gentle sway of her breasts under the too large, too thin shirt and wondered if she was also bare and red-tipped underneath _it_. He didn’t like the idea of her sitting around a bunch of muscle-bound Gryffindors practically naked, though he certainly didn’t want to analyze why it made him uncomfortable.

                “And you have to dress like a slag for that?” he asked, realizing just a smidgeon too late what was coming out of his mouth. He regretted it almost instantly. First, because he didn’t mean it, not really. Secondly because within moments he was dangling upside down while couch cushions pummeled him repeatedly. “Stop! Granger, damn it, stop! I’m sorry!”

                “For what?” came her reply through gritted teeth.

                “For pointing out the inappropriateness of your attire-AAAGH!”

                “Try that again, _Malfoy,”_ the harridan hollered as the cushions picked up speed.

                “For trying to protect your reputation….DAMN IT!”

                “Last chance, _ferret_ ,” the shrew snarled at him.

                “For being a misogynistic and patronizing arsehole who dared to criticize your dress and somehow link the way a woman dresses to her sexual history and worth as a person. Now let me down; I’m injured!”

                Draco was very grateful she didn’t just drop him on his head. The cushions dropped first and then he lowered to them, like a leaf from a tree in the fall. He lay there, panting, holding his side and swearing to every god he could think of that he would get her back, as soon as he could breathe again. His view of the ceiling was suddenly blocked by a very red-faced woman, arms on her hips, unaware of how her shirt gaped forward, giving him a clear view up it and to the sweet curve of the underside of her definitely bare breasts. He closed his eyes to the sight and groaned.

                She must have taken pity on him because the vanilla and coffee scent of her suddenly became much closer and he felt his shirt tugged gently up, cool air brushing across his abdomen and making his muscles clench. Her fingers, oddly calloused, brushed against his bruised side and he hissed in pain.

                “Oh, don’t be such a baby,” Granger huffed. “It is just a bruise left from your broken rib. A bit of paste and it will be fine.”

                An _accio_ later and her fingers were back, spreading the healing paste across his ribs in sure strokes that had him imagining how her hands would feel just a bit lower. He put a stopper on his errant thoughts, refusing to think about _Granger_ like that and confused as to how what was essentially 24 hours in her company had erased 7 years of loathing. He clearly needed to get some friends to talk to…or lackeys to order around…or a willing witch to sneak off into a broom closet with!

                He was lost in thought to the point that he didn’t really notice when her hands stopped and she capped the jar once more. He definitely noticed when she stepped over him, affording him with another clear shot right up her shirt, to get to her bedroom door. A mumbled password later, and she was in her room, her bath kit summoned from the loo and floating along behind her. She slipped on a pair of flat shoes, grabbed a book from her bedside and was standing in her open doorway once more mere moments later.

                Granger looked down at him on the floor and shook her head before lifting her leg, as if to step over his prone form again. He didn’t know why he did it. Even when he thought back on it later, he couldn’t even make up a reason to justify his actions. He had just finished telling himself not to think about her in _that_ way and here he was. He grabbed her slender calf in its painted on jeans and pulled, throwing up his hands in time to catch her as gravity took over and pulled the witch down to sprawl on top of him.

                “If you were a Slytherin I would swear you knew what you were doing every time you stood over me like that,” he drawled, watching as her pupils dilated, nearly drowning out their color, and her cheeks flushed. It was easy to see, since her face was only about 6 inches from his own, her hands on either side of his head, supporting her weight. “Since you are not, however, I feel it is my duty to educate you, lest you find yourself in a compromising position. Like. This. One.”

                His hands, which had been resting on her hips, tugged up the hem of her shirt until they could slip underneath and dance feather light across the warm skin of her lower back, tickling up her spine, across her shoulder blades, and around the front of her until they rested just under the slight weight of her breasts, not quite touching the gentle swells.

                Granger was panting, gasping in air like each breath might be her last, her chest rising and falling rapidly. With each exhale his fingertips just barely grazed the dip where her breasts met her ribcage and he felt silky skin for the minutest of seconds. When she didn’t immediately hex him, he took a chance and ran his knuckles along the underside of each breast, side to side, once…twice…three times before brushing the pads of his thumbs over her pebbled nipples.

                That apparently broke the spell on both of them as Draco grabbed her under her arms and lifted her up and to the side at the same time that she tried to crawl forward, over his head. This resulted in her knee connecting rather solidly with his nose. Through the tears of pain he saw her running through the portrait hole and into the hall, forgetting about her book and the need to lock and ward her bedroom door. Or even close it at all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                Hermione slowed her pace, needing a few more minutes to calm her racing heart and cool her heated cheeks. Draco Malfoy had just fondled her breasts. She had just _let_ Draco Malfoy grope her while she lay on top of him on a bed of couch cushions after having _almost_ wanked to thoughts of him in the shower. Well, not to thoughts of _him in the shower._ But…Great! Now she was picturing him in the shower!

                “Aargh! I need a decent shag. That’s all this is. I’m sexually frustrated and he’s just everywhere I go today so naturally my mind latched onto him. There’s nothing more to it. I do not fancy him. I don’t even want to shag him. He’s just…convenient…and around…all the damn time. And yes, I can admit that he is pretty delicious looking under those clothes and I would really like to lick his… but he is a complete and utter arse and has the personality of a mountain troll. So, no, I don’t actually want to shag Malfoy. I just need to relieve some tension, that’s all.”

                Satisfied that her brain had solved the puzzle, somewhat, of her attraction to the pureblood prat, Hermione nodded her head and hastened her pace to Gryffindor tower, oblivious to the presence of Neville Longbottom, who had stepped out of his new dorm just as she had passed it and heard her entire monologue.

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                Draco resisted the temptation for about 5 seconds before rolling to his feet and striding confidently into Granger’s room. He sneered at her _homey_ décor while thinking about what mischief he could get up to, what secrets he could uncover.

                “ _Accio_ diary,” he intoned, looking forward to reading about all the most embarrassing moments of her life. He frowned when nothing happened. He tried it again with ‘journal’ to no avail. He decided the room was small enough that he could just search it the Muggle way and he proceeded to very carefully search every nook and cranny, looking for anything he could hold over the girl’s bushy head. He wardrobe was fairly drab and schoolmarmish. She didn’t have a box of love notes or pictures under her bed like Pansy. Her underwear drawer was an interesting dichotomy of plain cotton briefs with printed flowers or hearts and silky scraps of black, crimson, periwinkle, violet, and blush. He definitely did not fail to notice that while she had quite the collection of panties, the same couldn’t be said for brassieres. Apparently the swot preferred to go without a bra and who would have ever thought that? He restrained himself from snatching a pair of Slytherin green knickers and stuffing them in his pocket.

He was just about to give up when he spotted it, the corner of a box tucked behind her wardrobe. Draco wasted no time tearing it open and upon seeing its contents he began to grin. “Kitten, you are a naughty girl. Pretty panties are one thing but this…this is interesting.”

Draco decided to put the box back where he found it, but leave it opened. He smirked imagining the brunette witch trying to remember if she had left it open or not, panicking at the idea of someone having found it, seen its contents. It would provide him with days of entertainment if he played it right. And he would definitely play it right. After all, he was a Slytherin, and mind games were his bread and butter.

He righted the couch with a wave of his wand, closed her door so she wouldn’t realize she had left it open, and practically skipped to his room, pictures of Granger’s face when she finally realized he knew her dirty little secret putting a giant grin on his face. Beating aside, his final year at Hogwarts was already turning out quite a bit better than he dared hope. This was going to be fun.


	7. Distractions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hermione talks to Neville and spends time with her fellow lions. And has another nightmare. Draco finds his courage and something else. A bit lemony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Truly sorry for how long it is taking to update. Life is not getting much better than it was. Got to visit my aunt and say my good-bye's, which is both a relief and just really damn depressing. My neice and sister have recovered from the flu, thank Goodness, and life is getting back to normal so I should be able to post a bit more regularly. For those still hanging in there, thank you!

Chapter 7: Distractions

                Hermione arrived at the portrait of the Fat Lady still in a huff but determined to enjoy her evening with her friends…housemates…whatever. She would play Exploding Snap, talk about quidditch, eat sweets like she had never even heard of tooth decay, and have a good time, damn it! Even though none of those activities were what she would consider a good time. Even though the idea of playing happy when she wasn’t actually happy gave her the scratch. Even though being in a small room stuffed to the gills with rowdy teenagers, laughter, yelling, and couples inevitably snogging made her want to tear her hair out. Even though there was a fair chance she would be accosted by memories of other nights in the common room and Gryffindors gone too soon.

                _Courage, Hermione. Deal with what happens when it happens and don’t worry about things that haven’t, and may not, come to pass._

Giving the password ( _thanks, Gin for remembering to give it to me)_ she stepped into…silence and staring eyes, glares and gaping mouths, concern and pity, anger and contempt, and the usual smattering of misplaced hero worship. Instinctively, she took a step backward, bumping into tall and built like a brick wall.

                “Sorry, Neville,” she apologized automatically. Yes, even Hermione Granger had noticed that Neville had pulled an ugly duckling in the short months since the war and so knew who she had bumped into without looking.

                “Make it up to me by explaining what the hell is going on with you and Malfoy,” he mumbled into her ear, deep voice rumbling and sending a shiver down her spine.

                Hermione turned her head, tilting it to look into his face instead of his neck. He looked curious more so than concerned or contemptuous and she needed someone to talk to that might not be so judgmental (read Ginevra Weasley) so she nodded, grabbed his hand ( _and when did those get so big and rough?)_ and dragged him into the stairwell leading to the base of the tower where she had once conjured a flock of birds and flung them at Ron. Muffling and privacy charms followed and soon enough she was seated on the stone floor, facing Neville like girlfriends at a slumber party.

                Neville must have made a similar connection because he smiled, revealing perfect teeth no doubt achieved through magic but no less attractive because of it, and said, “As long as you don’t ask me to brush your hair,” before joining her on the floor, leaning back against the wall and resting his arms on his spread and raised knees.

                “I don’t think you would survive such an undertaking, Neville,” Hermione quipped and ignored the slight tingle down her spine when he threw back his head and laughed, though it did help reinforce her conclusion that she wasn’t necessarily attracted to Malfoy but rather just sexually frustrated because as good looking as he had inexplicably become, he was still _Neville_ and not even close to her type.

                When Neville finally quieted, Hermione began, starting with their encounter on the train and ending with her sprawled atop him in front of her door with his hands up her shirt. She left nothing out including her thoughts and feelings before, during, and after each interaction with the blonde which she hadn’t even told Ginny. Neville simply listened, nodding here and there, but keeping his own opinions to himself.

                “So?” she finally asked him, inviting him to share those opinions and impart some words of wisdom that would help her deal with…all of it…like some reincarnation of Dumbledore.

                “So…,” Neville drawled, that one syllable meaning nothing and yet everything all at once.

                “Shite! I thought you’d say that!” Hermione wailed, flinging herself backwards onto the floor and covering her face in the most dramatic fashion possible for one so logical and pragmatic. “What do I do then, since you have all the answers?”

“Well,” Neville once again made a single syllable sound like a dozen.

“No, I can’t do that,” Hermione insisted, sitting back up and shooting to her feet in a single move that was quite an impressive display of core strength. “We hated each other for years. He was an arse to me. We fought on opposite sides. What would everyone think? Not that I care but I just don’t want the hassle of hate mail, more than I already have that is, and dodging hexes in the hallway. Plus, I have to live with him. What if things didn’t work out? How awkward would that be? Give me something else.”

“You could…” Neville began, eyes towards the ceiling in deep concentration as Hermione paced the diameter of the tiny room. “But then…”

“Yes, but then…if people found out! And what if I’m not built for casual sex? What if it starts that way but doesn’t stay that way for me but he doesn’t want more than that? Or what if he wants more and I don’t? Oh, why couldn’t I just shag you and have done with it? But, no, I have to go and be attracted to _Malfoy_ of all people!”

“Well, there’s always…”Again, Neville trailed off.

“No,” Hermione responded, once again guessing where Neville’s head was at. “That is a possible solution and while it might work for a day or two it doesn’t actually eradicate the problem so much as provide temporary relief. And besides, I already tried and _he_ was still in my head so not really a solution after all.” Hermione was not embarrassed to admit that she had attempted masturbation, recently, and found it unsatisfactory. “I’ll just have to find someone else. If I find someone else to focus my attention on, I’m sure he’ll move on as well or this…thing…will go away. Right? RIGHT?!”

“But who?” Neville asked, more to himself than to Hermione. He wanted to help his friend, honestly and truly, but she had shot down his ideas and so he was a bit lost.

“Well, it can’t be a Hufflepuff,” Hermione stated. “Too clingy and too boring to keep my attention long enough. No offense to Hannah, Neville.”

“None taken. I like them clingy and boring,” he answered good-naturedly. “Ravenclaw would keep your interest. All those academic conversations.”

“But they can be so…dispassionate? Unemotional? They might keep my attention when discussing homework assignments but who’s to say that will transfer well to the bedroom? Or abandoned classroom which, let’s face it, is more likely. I need something that will override this ridiculous physical attraction and only an equally ridiculous physical attraction will do.”

“Well, there are plenty of good looking Gryffindors but they won’t be able to keep up with your intellect. Let’s face it; you might need to go looking for another Slytherin, in which case you might as well just shag the one you’ve already got. If it’s just physical, I say find a bloke who gets your knickers wet and go for it. Who cares if he doesn’t’ know the difference between monkshood and wormwood?” Neville found himself engulfed in a warm hug as Hermione threw herself into his lap. He lowered his legs to make more room for her and she buried her face in his neck.

“Thank you for not being super judgmental and actually trying to help me,” Hermione mumbled into his shoulder. “What would I do without you?”

Neville wrapped his arms around his friend and rested his chin atop her curly head. “Owl Harry and Ron, probably. But I don’t mind being their stand-in. Besides, this is the most exciting thing I’ve had to deal with since May and, to be honest, I was getting a bit bored. As long as there is no death looming on the horizon, I’ll take dealing with your love life…sex life?...over another game of Exploding Snap, hands down.”

Hermione laughed, kissing Neville’s cheek before crawling off his lap and helping him to his feet. In her head she was running down a list of possible partners, crossing them off one-by-one. In fact, the majority of the possibilities she would even consider were graduated and gone from Hogwarts. While the conversation with Neville had been enlightening, she still didn’t have a ready solution to her problem. She decided she would use meal times in the Great Hall to survey her options and compile an organized list of pros and cons.

_Maybe I can conduct interviews?_

“Please, I’m begging you; let me sit in on those if you decide to do it! I just want to see the looks on their faces!” Neville laughed.

“Was that out loud?” Hermione asked, a bit perturbed that she was apparently mumbling to herself again.

“No,” Neville smirked. “I know you, though, and you had that crazy look in your eye that said you were overanalyzing and obsessively planning. What else could you do when trying to pick the perfect partner but conduct interviews? It’s only _logical_ after all.”

“Oh, hush you!” Hermione ordered, smacking his surprisingly firm bicep. _Seriously, why can’t I just shag Neville and release some of this tension?_

“I’m not your type. Hannah would object...violently if you can believe it of a ‘puff. And you would regret it in the morning and not speak to me for a month out of humiliation and awkwardness,” Neville ticked off, once again reading her mind…or her face…or her body language. Whatever.

“That’s beginning to creep me out, Nev,” Hermione admitted, to which Neville just laughed.

Arm in arm, the pair made their way back into the common room where, thankfully, Ginny had apparently been hard at work diffusing some of the tension, apprising her housemates of the truth of the situation (though it was probably highly embellished with words like _poor Hermione_ and _had no choice_ and _follow her example_ and _house unity_ with the possibility of a few well-placed reminders of her heroine status or status as Harry Potter’s best friend; yes, _that_ Harry Potter). The room was much more welcoming and hardly anyone spared her a glance.

She did all that she swore to do and more, losing spectacularly at Exploding Snap _and_ wizarding chess, faking her way through a quidditch discussion, and eating a chocolate frog and a sugar quill. And a licorice wand. And a handful of Bertie Bott’s, though she did stop after getting a liver flavored one and a distinct quiver of nausea deep in her belly. Before she knew it, the fire had died down, little lions and big alike were heading towards their beds, and curfew was fast approaching. She hugged her friends and promised to repeat the evening soon.

Though she hadn’t spent any time with large groups aside from the Weasley’s, it had felt nice to let go again, even for a little bit. Of course, it was night again and she was alone in a dark hallway with no one to distract her from her thoughts, a dark hallway that was filled with all manner of nightmarish creatures and Death Eaters the last time she had chanced down it. Memories she wished she didn’t have barreled down on her until she was running through the halls towards her dorm, towards relative safety. Towards Draco Malfoy who seemed to understand and wasn’t expecting her to have moved on and act happy for everyone else’s sake.

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                She was screaming again. Draco hadn’t silenced his room because he wanted to hear her when she came in. Not that he was worried about her or anxious to see her or anything. He was really curious as to how she would react when she realized her wards were down on her room and the box… _that_ box….was open. His evening had been lonely and boring and he wanted a bit of sport to take his mind off of…well….everything, really. But she had entered the dorm and gone straight to her room, not even pausing to take down any wards had there been any, nor acknowledging their absence in any way.

                It was fine, though, because she would eventually notice and he would get his fun. He was awake a bit longer, listening to her moving around her room, preparing for bed, until silence reigned and he realized she had gone to sleep. Draco rolled over and closed his eyes, hoping that his brain would take the hint and shut down, too. His afternoon nap though must have thrown his sleep schedule out of whack because his thoughts wouldn’t stop rolling and he didn’t feel sleepy in the slightest.

                Tossing and turning for nearly 30 minutes wasn’t helpful at all so he sat up, sighed resignedly, and cast a _lumos_ , grabbing his text books and starting on homework assignments not due for days. It was while in the middle of a particularly difficult formula that the first scream came, scaring the ever-loving shit out of him and causing him to jump hard enough to send his books crashing to the floor. Just like the previous night, she was dreaming about Malfoy Manor, Easter, and his aunt. And just like the night before, his name came out of her mouth. Unlike that night, however, she wasn’t screaming his name in pain, but rather what sounded like begging, seeking mercy. Or salvation.

                Putting his hand against the wall, too cowardly to listen to her ask for his help when he knew he hadn’t been willing to provide it, hadn’t been brave enough to save her, he was about to cast the spell when the witch screamed his name again, tone switching from pleading for his help, to pleading with him to stop, as if he had taken place of Bellatrix-mad-as-a-damn-hatter-Lestrange in her torture scene.

                “Please,” she panted. “Draco, please, I swear I didn’t take it. Please, don’t, please, don’t…PLEASE! PLEEEEEEEEASE! AAAAAAAGH!”

                Knowing she hadn’t reset her wards and probably hadn’t with the password either, and that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep anyway, and that he didn’t care to be thought of as a torturer, and that “rescuing” her would probably work in his favor further down the road, Malfoy made a different decision than he had made the night before. He stood from his bed, shucked his shirt because she had been very interested in his chest earlier and it couldn’t hurt any, (again, consummate Slytherin) and found himself in front of her door before he could consider what type of hex she might throw at him were he to enter her rooms.

                Not bothering to knock, he flung open the door, correct about the password situation, and strode over to her bedside, noting her wild hair, the sweat on her brow and upper lip, the very tiny pair of pale pink panties and the tissue thin, oversized shirt she had worn earlier, which had ridden up and twisted around her torso as she tossed and turned in the throes of her nightmare. Her legs jackknifed and scissored back and forth almost as if she had no control of them. Thoughts of her panties fled his mind almost as quickly as they had entered it.

                Going against his better judgment, Draco reached out a hand and grabbed her shoulder, shaking her gently and calling her name. It was as if his touch was a catalyst for something truly catastrophic. Her entire body started to shake violently, like the after effects of a particularly strong _crucio,_ and her eyes popped wide, pupils completely blown in abject terror, mouth wide in a silent scream, as if all the air had been stolen from her.

                Not knowing what else to do, Draco threw his body on top of hers, pinning her legs with his own to keep her still and tangling his fingers in hers, raising her hands above her head and keeping them there. He shoved his face close to hers, foreheads touching, his sterling eyes meeting hers, nearly black in her fear, the deep mahogany eaten up by the onyx of her pupils.

                “Granger, wake up!” he demanded. “C’mon, kitten, snap out of it. You’re safe here; nobody is going to hurt you. You’re safe.”

                Draco kept repeating that she was safe, here, with him, while her body bucked and rolled in remembered pain until he finally felt her entire body clench tight as a bow string for a heartbeat…two...and then it was like all of her bones were removed from her body; she went liquid underneath him, sinking into the mattress under his weight, her entire body relaxing from her eyelids right down to her toes. Draco stayed where he was, though he lifted his torso away from hers and released her hands to balance his weight on his arms.

                Slowly, after a mini eternity, her eyes raised to meet his once more, seeing him for the first time in the ten minutes or so he had been atop her. He tried not to let it bother him when her eyes flashed in recognition and fear, even though the fear was quickly replaced with relief. He gave it another moment until he felt her entire body shudder beneath him as if shaking off the nightmare, the fear, the relived pain, and then he released her, though he didn’t go far.

                Draco rolled off of Hermione to lie beside her on the bed, panting with exhaustion and wiping sweat from his forehead with his equally sweaty arm. _Merlin, that was exhausting._ He listened to Hermione panting next to him and for once was actually a bit ashamed where his thoughts went, flashes of sweaty and panting and very naked running across the front of his mind before he could stop it. _What kind of monster am I?_ _How could I possibly feel like that, think like that, when she was just screaming in terror…tortured? What the hell is wrong with me? I even came into her room half naked when I knew…I knew she was…fuck!_

His thoughts were interrupted by the weight of Hermione Granger turning and tucking her body against his side, her sweat-dampened hair falling into his face as she pressed her nose into his neck and cried, great, heaving sobs wracking her tiny body and his. He didn’t know what to do with crying women. Slytherin women, and pureblooded women in general, kept their emotions in check until behind closed doors. He had no experience with this and so did the one thing he wished someone had been able to do for him when he cried. He adjusted his position so that he could wrap the weeping witch in his arms, pulling her as close to his chest as he could, burying a hand in her hair, shushing her as one would a babe, and just holding her until she finally cried herself out and fell into the sleep of the truly exhausted, Draco following close behind.

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                Thursday morning bloomed bright, engulfing Hermione’s room in yellow, pink, and red and rousing the pair, still entwined, on the bed. Hermione came to all at once, eyes opening and field of vision filling with the sight of a strong, if somewhat pointed jaw stubbled in white. She gasped, senses filling with the smell of him, musky but not unpleasant, and the feel of him, solid against her, strong arms wrapped around her and a muscled thigh pressed between her own.

                Of course, she remembered her state of undress at the same time that she noticed his, her fingers curling against his lean chest, their tips tickled by his chest hair, sparse as it was. It took her a moment to realize that his heartbeat had sped up, signaling that he too had awakened and was aware of their position and minimal attire. His hand slipped down to her hip, pulling her tighter against him and his thigh shifted higher, just brushing her knickers.

                Hermione’s hips rolled quite involuntarily and her nails dug into Draco’s chest, causing him to hiss and roll his hips in response, his regard for her making itself very known against her belly. Hermione was pretty sure she whimpered and Draco responded by tightening his hold on her hip and using his free hand to pull her head back by the hair and forcing her to look him in the eye.

                Draco raised an eyebrow as he experimentally rolled his hips against hers again. Her quickened breath and the sudden dampness between her thighs which he had to have felt even through his pajamas must have been the response he was looking for because he growled low in his throat, twisted them both until she was on her back with him between her spread thighs, and attacked her mouth with his own, thrusting his tongue inside in rhythm with the grinding of his hips.

                It was like no other kiss she had ever had. Viktor was tentative, shy, and Ron’s kisses were like a summer day, warm and pleasant. But Malfoy’s kiss… _Merlin, Morgana, and the sweet baby Jesus!_ His kiss was like fire, burning her from the inside out. He licked every part of her mouth, determined to touch and taste every last bit of her, nipping at her lips and coaxing her tongue to return the favor. His hands slid down the length of her body until he could grab her by the knees and raise her legs up to cradle his hips before they slid back again, fingers playing with the edge of her knickers. All the while his erection rubbed and rubbed against her core, until the gusset of her pink panties was soaked and so was the front of his sleep pants. And still he rubbed.

                His lips left hers to kiss a wet trail down the side of her neck and Hermione arched towards the caress, inviting him to suck and bite to his heart’s content. She buried her hands in his hair to keep him at her neck, marveling momentarily at the silken texture before the tide of pleasure took her over and all she could think about was his lips and tongue and teeth meeting where her neck curved into her shoulder, and about his cock grinding faster and faster against her swollen clit, and about his hands shoving her shirt up around her neck and latching onto her breasts to squeeze, pinch, and roll her nipples.

                Holy shit but sex had never felt like this before, not even in the earlier days of Hermione and Ron when they couldn’t quite get enough of each other, enough of the bliss. Hermione wrapped her legs around his waist, digging her heels into his ass and arching up into his thrusts. The pressure felt amazing but it wasn’t quite enough. Hermione released Draco’s hair to grab at the waistband of his sleep pants instead, trying to push them down and out of the way, hinting at what she wanted.

                Draco apparently wasn’t in the mood to argue with her. Within seconds he had helped her shove his pants down and, pushing her panties aside without removing them, he thrust hard and deep into her warm, wet, willing, and waiting pussy. He filled her up, stretching her around his cock, and didn’t bother waiting for her to adjust before he started thrusting. The sex was fast and rough. Hands went everywhere they could reach, as did teeth and tongues. Draco bit at her nipples, pulled her hair, and at one point shoved her knees into her chest, rolling her up like a ball of dough and jackhammering into her. He dropped a hand to where they were joined and used his thumb to circle her clit faster and faster until she came screaming and spasming around his cock.

                Draco followed a few deep and furious thrusts later, releasing her legs so they flopped uselessly to the side and collapsing atop her, his face buried in the pillow next to her wild mane of hair. It took a few minutes for the tremors of aftershocks to stop and for sweat to cool and heartbeats to return to normal. They both seemed to realize what they had done at the same time, Draco rolling away from her and Hermione rolling the opposite way, leaving the bed and the room and rushing for the sanctuary of the shower.

                _What did I just do? Holy shit, what did we just do? I just fucked Draco Malfoy…well, to be honest he fucked me but…holy shit, what did I just do? I have hated him for seven years. We’ve been back two days! What the hell is happening to me?_


	8. Interrogation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco wants to clear the air and will do whatever it takes to get some answers.

Chapter 8: Interrogation

                Draco took a few more minutes to regain his equilibrium before the cool air of a drafty castle in Scotland reminded him that his dick was lying wet and limp against his thigh while he lay there in the wrecked bed of Hermione Granger, the girl he had basically hated and definitely ridiculed for years. If he wasn’t so damn sated, to the point where he was pretty sure he wasn’t going to be able to move any time soon, his head might have actually exploded at the thought.

                But he _was_ sated. He wasn’t quite sure how they had gotten to this point, and his brain had yet to catch up to his body, but he wasn’t complaining. Since the train ride the little witch had been in his thoughts and those thoughts were anything but antagonistic, as evidenced by his very recent activities. Waking up to her tight little body pressed against his, the heat from her core scorching his thigh, was the best wake-up call he’d ever gotten. When she responded to him, that pretty little sound coming out of that pretty little mouth, he had to see if it was genuine, if it had been him that she was responding to. So he had pulled her head back, made her look at him, and she had made that sound again.

                Seven years of animosity completely obliterated by two days of uneasy truce, a flash of pert breasts, and a whimper. He’d had her beneath him and writhing against his cock in moments, the smell of her arousal filling his nose and stripping away his good sense. He might have been content to grind against her wet heat until they both came in their pants like 5th years but she was having none of it. He was surprised but damned happy when she grabbed his bottoms and gave him permission to take it much further than he had originally intended.

Her breasts felt amazing in his hands and against his tongue and her pussy…scorching hot, tight as a glove, and the best thing he had ever felt engulfing his favorite appendage. She had whined, moaned, groaned, and gasped as she ran her nails through his hair and down his back. She had urged him on with her body and the greedy grasps of her dripping cunt, stripping away his self control until he was pounding into her with abandon, not giving a fuck about slow and easy and gentle. Before he lost his load in her, he remembered that her pleasure was important, too and had attacked her clit the same way he had attacked her mouth.

                When she came, screaming his name whether she was aware of it or not, that combined with the unyielding grip of her tightened quim pushed him headfirst into his own orgasm and he had buried himself deep in her, his hipbones grinding against hers, as if he could absorb her into his own skin if he could just… get… close… enough.

                Of course, reality set in fairly quickly. He remembered that he was Draco Malfoy, school pariah, Death Eater, kind of, and the boy who had tormented her for years and she was Hermione Granger, co-savior of the wizarding world and too damn pure for the likes of him. So he had rolled away and she had wasted no time in fleeing the room, the panties he hadn’t even bothered removing keeping his seed from slipping down her legs as she ran.

                And that led him back to the present, still sprawled rather inelegantly with his prick flopping uselessly out in the open. He summoned enough strength to tuck himself back in his bottoms, grimacing a bit at the stickiness, but didn’t remove himself from her room. They were going to need to talk, sooner rather than later, and not just about the sex. He knew that if he went back to his room there was a decent chance he wasn’t going to see the witch for a few days at least and he was not going to let this sit and fester until _she_ decided _she_ was ready to talk.

                He needed his sleep and had his own nightmares to deal with; he didn’t need to add hers to the mix and he certainly didn’t want to keep starring as the villain in them. So they were going to talk about feelings or some shit like that and maybe fuck again… _no, bad idea; she’s Hermione Granger and you’re Draco Malfoy and while the sun is currently still shining and the earth did not stop spinning we are not going to keep tempting fate. Even if she has a box of…no, nope, not going there._

Draco vaguely heard the shower start, the silencing charm of the previous day obviously not still in place. The idea of joining her in the shower popped to the forefront of his mind but he dismissed it. He would give her some space to get her thoughts together and confront her when she returned to the room to dress for the day. Unless she didn’t return. She was Hermione Granger and Draco had no doubts that she could and probably would transfigure the couch cushions into a uniform if she was determined to avoid him.

                With that thought in mind, Draco rolled out of her bed, albeit reluctantly, and stalked towards the bathroom, hell-bent on confronting the chit and coming to a satisfactory solution for their nighttime problems. Whether he was more interested in dealing with the nightmare situation or the newly discovered sexual compatibility, he wasn’t willing to overanalyze. He slipped into the steam-filled cubicle in time to hear her inner monologue that she apparently had trouble keeping “inner”, muffled occasionally as she ducked under the spray.

                “Seven years! He was _gurgle_ he said _grumble_ mudblood! Ridicule and degradation every time _splutter_ I slapped him, for Merlin’s sake. He was such a prat…is such a prat…and so cocky and superior and irritating and…my god, good…so very, very _glug glug_!”

                Draco smirked, cocky just as she described him. He knew what he could do. Now he knew what she could do, at least a bit of it anyway. He was very interested in learning more, whether he was quite ready to admit it or not. It was the work of a moment to drop his trousers and step in behind her in the seriously too small shower stall. He wasn’t going to lie; the squeak that came out of her mouth and the way she instantly covered her breasts, while leaving her cunt bare to his gaze, was unfathomably adorable and he snorted out a laugh before he could stop himself.

                “What the hell do you think you’re doing? This is a violation of my privacy, Malfoy! I demand you- _oof…mph…glug!_ ” she gurgled as Draco shoved her face back under the water, which was the most expedient way he could think of to shut her up, though only the second-most pleasurable option. Third, if he could have gotten her on her knees fast enough!

                “I swear, Malfoy, if you don’t… _grglmphfft,”_ and back into the water she went.

Draco decided this was actually the most pleasurable option as he watched her splutter, the water sluicing off her pert nose, her hair sticking to her face, reminding him of a poodle caught in a rainstorm. He laughed again, not even trying to stop it. She must have realized she couldn’t win with her current stratagem because this time when she emerged she was cool and collected. She released her breasts to calmly gather her hair out of her face and wipe off the excess water around her eyes so she could properly glare at him.

“Look, I don’t know what the hell is happening, or why, or what you want from me,” the witch began, voice steady and at least at a pitch that humans could hear. “I obviously can’t deny that the events of this morning were…enjoyable…but…”

“Enjoyable, kitten? When you come so hard you scream loud enough to wake the dead, there are better and more appropriate adjectives than merely ‘enjoyable’.” Draco liked the way her cheeks flamed red, though she didn’t avert her eyes or show any other signs of embarrassment. “One _enjoys_ a good cuppa, a great book, and a lazy Sunday afternoon. Believe me; I wouldn’t describe the feel of your cunt wrapped around my cock as merely _enjoyable_. Though I wouldn’t object to a repeat performance, just to make sure my memory isn’t faulty.” The words were out before he remembered that he had already decided they weren’t going there again. Not before they cleared the air and resolved both of their nightmare issues.

The woman’s pupils dilated and her breath caught in her chest and that was all Draco needed to ditch his resolve and dive headfirst into bad decisions, without the haze of sleep to potentially blame it on this time. Her lips were so soft beneath his, her tongue meeting his eagerly, once again tasting of coffee and vanilla though he didn’t know how that was possible. Maybe he was just projecting. Whatever. Her breasts, slick from the water and whatever shampoo she had been rinsing out when he had entered the stall, were soft and full against his chest, pebbled nipples crushed against him, and her tight, rounded ass felt amazing clenched in his hands.

She was very petite, which made the position uncomfortable as he had to bend quite a bit to reach her mouth. His solution? Lift her and press her up against the wall, her shapely legs wrapped around his hips and her quim perfectly positioned against his renewed hard on. Draco pulled back, unable to resist the chance to be cocky.

“Do you enjoy this, kitten?” he asked before he sucked at a sensitive spot behind her ear. “Or maybe this is what you find so… enjoyable,” he rumbled against her neck as he trailed his lips lower, to her clavicle, which he licked and nipped. “Brace yourself, Granger, because you’re really going to _enjoy_ this next part.” And that was the last either of them spoke for a while.

Draco lowered Hermione’s feet to the floor of the shower and knelt in front of her, kissing a line down her sternum, biting at her bellybutton, and throwing her right leg over his shoulder before licking a long swipe up her center, starting at her slick channel and ending at her swollen clit. The cute little hiccupping gasp she made practically dared him to repeat the motion. So of course he did.

Draco wasn’t one of those blokes who would describe a girl’s cunt as _sweet_ , or _delicious_ , or any other ridiculous descriptor used to talk about flesh that tasted simply of flesh. He wouldn’t call Hermione’s flavor anything clichéd like _honeyed_ or _sweat cream_. Her pussy tasted like pussy, like clean flesh with a tinge of chemicals most likely due to her recent use of body wash. What made her pussy the best he had ever had the pleasure of tasting was her unbridled, unselfconscious reaction.

Her small hands dug at his scalp as she pressed him closer, arching her hips to position him just so. She didn’t try to quiet her responses or temper them in any way but rather moaned, groaned, whimpered, mewled like the kitten he named her, and grunted profanities like a fishwife as he licked her again and again. He circled her vagina, nibbled at her labia, thrust inside her channel, and sucked at her clit. All the while she rocked her hips and ground her pussy down against his lips and chin, tugging at his hair quite painfully if he was being honest. He didn’t care. He ate at her voraciously, engaging his nose and his stubbled chin to keep her entire core stimulated until finally, finally, finally she came, juices not gushing out of her like some unrealistic porno but rather trickling into his mouth and a bit down his chin as he lapped at her until her contractions ceased and her body went limp above him.

He couldn’t help what he said next. It was the snarky, cocky Malfoy in him. Looking up at the flushed and panting witch, he smirked as he asked, “So, kitten, did you _enjoy_ that?”

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                Hermione gasped, sucking in air through her mouth in a desperate attempt to fill her lungs. The lack of oxygen to her brain was surely to blame for what she did and said in response. Hermione let her Gryffindor out to play and jerked Draco’s head back by his stupidly soft hair. Staring into his stormy eyes she gave a smirk as good as she got and answered his question simply.

                “I’d enjoy it more if you shut the hell up and put your mouth to better use, peacock,” she purred before shoving his face back between her legs.

                Of course, Draco wasn’t the type to be ordered around. He licked her slowly, like an ice cream, for a mere moment before he stood and crushed her lips beneath his in a bruising kiss. Hermione could taste herself on his tongue. It was a new experience for sure. Ron was a great receiver but not much of a giver when it came to oral sex. He would perform it under duress but only for a few minutes, to get her going so to speak, and then he was up and in her and too busy grunting in her ear to kiss her like this. At the time she hadn’t minded because he always made sure she came too, and oral wasn’t exactly everyone’s cup of tea.

                Hermione liked the combined flavor of his tongue and her pussy but her taste test was short-lived because Draco stepped away from her and spun her around to face the wall, the water from the shower head pummeling her spine and running in heavy rivulets down her sides. She had enough time to brace her hands against the heated tiles before he was slipping into her from behind and thrusting once, twice, three times…and stopping.

                “We need to talk, Granger,” Draco drawled with a slow circling of his hips.

                “Now?” Hermione shrieked. “What do we need to talk about _right_ now? Because I can’t think of anything so important that you need to stop…”

                “Last night,” Draco interrupted with a short, quick thrust. “Nightmares that I apparently star in, kitten.”

                “Way to kill a mood, Malfoy,” Hermione grumbled as she stepped further into the spray of the shower, intent on dismounting his cock and stepping out of the steamy stall.

                He, apparently, was having none of that because he just tightened his grip on her hips and dragged her backwards, causing her hands to slide further down the wall and her back to arch more deeply, the head of his cock bumping against her g-spot as he inched back into place.

                “I’m confident I can revive it,” he replied smugly. “Has it always been me? In the dream?”

                “Fuck,” Hermione grunted. “No…yes…not the same way. Can we please talk about this _after?”_

                Draco took pity on her. Or he gave in to his own need for completion because he withdrew from her body just to slam back in as deep as he could go. She hadn’t really paid attention to his dick and could only guess at its size based on the way it felt inside her. She felt full, not overly so as if he was gargantuan in proportion but perfectly full. So he was thick and long enough to bump her cervix in this position. And he definitely knew how to work it so she was content with not knowing the specifics, for now. She was sure she sounded like a dying animal as he continued to ram into her hard and deep but she couldn’t stop herself. It felt damned good and it wasn’t too long before she could feel her vagina tightening up and her lower abdomen fluttering, signs of an impending orgasm, which was a miracle since she had no clitoral stimulation once his cock came into play and generally orgasm from penetration was rare for her.

                Draco slowed to a…not a stop but slow enough it might as well have been a complete cessation of movement as far as her body was concerned. Hermione was pretty sure she was going to cry in frustration. She felt his hands trail up her spine to her shoulders before he lifted her back until they were pressed together full body.

                He licked her earlobe before whispering directly into her ear. “Tell me, kitten, or I’ll leave you like this…on the edge…unfulfilled.” His cock pressed up into her inch by inch, so slowly she had plenty of time to feel every ridge along his shaft.

                “Shit. It’s the manor and…usually it is only memory…fuck, your cock feels bloody fantastic…but sometimes it’s you and not _her_ …I don’t know why it changed…gods, Malfoy, please, move!” Hermione needed him to move, needed to come like she had never needed anything else in her entire life. Besides needing this conversation to end, that is.

                “I would never…you have to know that, Hermione,” Draco affirmed, his lips against her neck and his hands traveling her body until they came to rest, one gripping her left breast and the other cupping her sex. The water rained down on their bodies, still warm thanks to magic, and a cloud of steam surrounded them, making her head swim. “I don’t want to hurt you, kitten. I want to make you feel good.”

                “Prove it, Draco,” Hermione moaned, goading him.

                She felt him smirk against her shoulder. “Terrible Slytherin. That was very obvious. Luckily, I’m in a generous mood.”

                Draco’s fingers plucked at her nipple and her clit while his cock picked up where it had left off, in-and-outing in a steady rhythm meant to bring a quick climax to the both of them. Hermione whined and praised whichever deity gave Draco his inherent skill, or whichever woman taught him how to fuck properly, because she was definitely reaping the benefits. Her belly tightened and she came, again unable to contain her scream.

                Draco didn’t seem to mind though because he grunted and came a few thrusts later. Her noises during sex had often turned Ron off, apparently distracting him from his pleasure, so she had learned to temper them while they were together. Draco hadn’t complained so far and since changing herself to suit Ron’s needs hadn’t made him stay with her, she didn’t see the point in changing herself for Draco so even if he did say something...oh, the fuck, well.

                The lightheaded feeling left over from her orgasm and the overabundance of steam in the tiny room was working against her. All she wanted to do was lie down somewhere cool and catch her breath. Draco must have felt similarly because he slipped out of her, turned the valve to ‘off’, and dragged her out of the shower and across the common room to his bedroom. A few swish and flicks later and they were dry and lounging in his absurdly hedonistic bed. Well, Draco was lounging. Hermione was having a bit of an existential crisis now that the sex was over and her head was clearing and she found herself cuddling naked with Draco Malfoy in his bed, her head pillowed on his strong chest and his arms wrapped around her. It was surreal, to say the least.

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                Draco wasn’t really comfortable with the silence that permeated his bedroom. He felt he needed to say something and he still wanted to get to the bottom of this nightmare business.

                “I can’t make the nightmares stop,” Draco said apologetically. “I can’t even make my own stop, not without Dreamless Sleep and that stuff is addictive. It isn’t pretty coming off it, either. We can…talk…if you want. Like therapy or whatever or…shit, I don’t know. But if it helps, we can do that.”

                “What is going on here, Draco?” Hermione asked. “Two days ago you still hated me, if you thought of me at all, and now we’re…having sex and cuddling and sharing our troubles? Have we been enchanted? Or cursed? Why are you not freaking out right now?”

                “Well, at least you went with ‘enchanted’ _before_ ‘cursed’. I guess I should be flattered,” Draco answered with a chuckle, honestly glad despite the casual way he said it. “I’m going to go against my nature here and be straight with you. I don’t like that I’m in your nightmares. I don’t like hearing you scream my name in fear and pain, but feel free to scream it in pleasure a few hundred more times, kitten. I don’t like being kept up at night by my nightmares, let alone yours. Hell, maybe talking to me will help you and..well, it isn’t like I have anyone to talk to, so maybe talking to you will help me, too. Don’t get all sentimental about it, eh?”

                _Way to be an ass. She’s sure to open up to you now. Just fuck it all up, Draco, per usual._

                To say he was relieved when the witch hugged him closer and placed a gentle kiss to his ribs would have been an understatement. He didn’t know what this was and he wasn’t going to think about it too much. He was going to take what he could get and when she came to her damn senses and ended it, he would let it go, let her go, and return to the torture that was his life until June when he could finally be free to leave this place and the manor and to start to live his life, his way.

                “We’re going to miss breakfast,” was all she said before rolling out of his arms and leaving him to his own thoughts and morning ablutions.


	9. Avoidant Behavior

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> citrus and a bit of fluff

Chapter 9: Avoidant Behavior

                Hermione escaped to her room, dressing hastily before practically running out of their rooms and towards the Great Hall. She didn’t know what the hell had come over her and she didn’t know how to deal with this new and vulnerable Draco who cared enough about her to want to be her quasi-therapist. Something was going on, it had to be, and she needed some distance to figure it out, to gain perspective. She barreled headfirst into Neville, because of course she did, and fell hard on her bum.

                After he used his big, strong hands to set her to rights she commanded he take her to his room for another “girl chat”, pronto. Smart enough to know never to argue with Hermione Granger, Neville thought wistfully of the breakfast he wasn’t going to get before his first class of the day as he led his first school friend into his dorm and straight to his room. A room she paced like a madwoman, pulling at her hair and spilling all the details of the previous evening and that morning so fast he was sure she hadn’t taken a single breath during the entire spiel.

                _Holy shit, she slept with Malfoy._

                It took half a bottle of contraband firewhiskey, an entire box of tissues he only kept on hand for the days when Hannah was put out about something and refusing to sleep with him, and missing the first class of the day, the first of that particular class of the entire term, really, before she was calm enough to resemble a human being again.

                “And now I don’t know what to do!” the witch wailed, as if that wasn’t entirely obvious. “It must be some sort of spell. There isn’t any other explanation. This doesn’t make sense, Neville. He’s Draco Malfoy and I’m the mudblood he wished were dead in second year and watched get tortured not 6 months ago but somehow we can’t seem to stay away from each other and now I’ve gone and had sex with him and we cuddled…cuddled!”

                “I can tell this is bothering you. A great deal. I don’t have the answers for you ‘Mi. I wish I did. Maybe you just need some distance for a few days. Get your head on straight. Give him space to evaluate, or re-evaluate, as it were. You can stay here, if you want. The guys won’t mind.” He wasn’t going to mention that Hannah probably very much would mind.

                “I can’t do that, Neville. Hannah would not appreciate it and I don’t want rumors spreading about us. I’ll stay with Gin. She’s got the heads suite and I’m sure she’ll let me crash on her couch or something. I’ll just tell her that Malfoy is driving me mad and I need to avoid him for a little while before I hex him.” Hermione felt a lot better with a plan in mind.

                “How are you going to avoid him outside of your rooms?” Neville knew about the map but didn’t know that Ginny had wrestled possession of it from Harry.

                “The map. I’m sure Gin will let me borrow it. She can’t stand Draco and will readily believe that I’m avoiding him without needing the exact details. Thanks Neville for your shoulder to cry on. You’re a great friend.”

                And then Hermione Granger was gone from his room, leaving a giant pile of used tissues and questions behind. Topmost in his mind was who would ever think of charming, spelling, jinxing, cursing, hexing, or enchanting Malfoy and Hermione with the purpose of them bedding each other. He hated to think it, feeling as if he was betraying his friend, but Neville was pretty sure there wasn’t any magic involved whatsoever and that the two lovers were just two people who inexplicably and against all odds found each other. There was a thin line between love and hate after all.

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                Hermione was glad that Ginny hadn’t asked too many questions before offering up her room to the older witch. And an extra uniform and robes. And the map. She was a good friend and Hermione loved her all the more for it. She contemplated spilling the beans to the redhead but could never find the courage to do so. The map made it quite easy to avoid Draco while she got her head on straight and the two evenings spent with her friend were nice, like the summer months had been before she had decided to return to school and Ron decided to move on to greener, more available pastures. And if she thought about a certain blonde-haired Slytherin every now and again, she just brushed it aside to deal with later. And if she set up silencing and privacy charms around the common room of the head’s dorm so her screaming nightmares didn’t wake Ginny, she was only being considerate.

                Saturday was their first Hogsmeade trip of the year and Hermione felt guilty about going, knowing full well that Draco was probably going to spend the day alone rather than risk a repeat of recent events. She felt horrible about leaving him the way she had, knowing that she was the only person currently speaking to him, including most of the professors, and that he was probably feeling pretty isolated.

                As the day wore on and she became more and more distressed, even Ginny started to notice. Finally, the younger witch pulled Hermione aside and demanded she tell her what the hell was going on or else. Hermione didn’t even ask _or else what_ before she admitted that she had started a truce with Malfoy and felt bad about leaving him to his own devices for the last few days, aware that he had no one else and would effectively be alone. Ginny didn’t even pretend to care about Malfoy’s well-being but realized that Hermione was upset and so graciously offered to head back to the castle with her so she could make nice with her estranged dormmate. Hermione declined but thanked the girl for the use of her rooms and her clothes, promised to return the current outfit, and headed straight back to her dorm to confront the man who had been occupying her thoughts all day.

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                Draco didn’t see Hermione for three days. She had apparently gone to breakfast but was gone before he arrived. They didn’t share any classes, at all, and considering they were taking very similar subjects, Draco started to believe it was carefully orchestrated that way. Sharing a dorm was one thing, but sharing classes apparently was too much for Minerva McGonagall to contemplate, as if she could only subject the two to each other’s presence after dinner hours, as if she was doing them a favor.

                It became quite clear that she was deliberately avoiding him as she was never at meals and when he had gone off to the kitchens to check for her there, the elves said he had just missed her. She either hadn’t had a nightmare the last few nights or she wasn’t sleeping in her room or she had employed some silencing charms of her own because he didn’t hear her either. He tried staying up to wait for her to return from wherever she was going, but invariably he would wake up still on the couch with a headache and a crick in his neck. Knocking on her door yielded no response.

                The shower was never wet, either, hinting that she wasn’t bathing in their dorm. He missed the smell of her, which was odd considering he had hated that smell prior to their…encounter. Draco was getting antsy and lonely. He hadn’t spoken to another soul in three days, not even to threaten or reassert his position as someone not to fuck with. When other students looked at him askance or threw insults his way he merely raised a perfectly arched brow _a la_ Snape and kept keeping on.

                Three days was enough of this isolation shit, especially when one of those days was Saturday and he didn’t have the benefit of classes to keep his brain occupied, and he was ready to tear their rooms apart in frustration if she didn’t show her freckled face soon. Merlin, what he wouldn’t do for that map that the Weaslette had.

                _Draco, you blithering idiot! Follow the ginger and you’ll probably find the brunette hiding behind her robes. Or under them if the contents of that box are any indication._

                Thinking of the box and the witch who owned it was enough to get Draco a different kind of frustrated. His body, which had gone so long without pleasure, was greedy for more now that it had felt it once more…twice more. Before the war got really bad, after popping his cherry with Pansy Parkinson at the end of 4th year, he had enjoyed the occasional shag, able to choose from willing partners within the four houses during school and various debutantes from around the wizarding world during the summer months when he accompanied his parents on business meetings and holidays. Determined that the Malfoy name remain respected and revered, he had made sure that he learned the best ways to please his partners. As a true Slytherin it had been easy enough to convince his partners to show him how they liked to be touched, storing the information away for later, to use with other witches when the time came for it.

                Then, things got bad and he found himself seeking witches not for pleasure but for escape. If his mind was occupied with a witch, he wasn’t thinking about what was going on in the common rooms on the floor below him. His father encouraged him to forge alliances with other pureblood families and if that meant that he wooed and bedded their daughters, so be it. As long as he didn’t impregnate any of them out of wedlock, the Malfoy patriarch turned a blind eye and covered for him with the Dark…Voldemort…when yet another revel was held at the manor. Draco couldn’t possibly participate when he was bringing another pure family into the Dark…Voldemort’s…circle. Draco fucked to forget and was content with letting the madman think he was just a whore, recruiting for the dark side on his father’s orders.

                Then, the war ended and Draco Malfoy was Undesirable Number One. The well ran dry, so to speak, and he spent four months with nothing and no one but himself for company. He was so damned depressed that he didn’t even contemplate sex enough to miss it. But now…his body remembered and demanded more. His head had gotten used to having someone talk to him, look at him, _see_ him and he missed that too. He refused to go back to the dark place he had spent his summer in.

                So he made up his mind that he would follow the last remaining Weasley at Hogwarts until he once again had Hermione Granger in his sights…his arms…his bed…or hers; he wasn’t picky. Draco spent that third evening without her contemplating and scheming until he had what he thought was a brilliant, solid, infallible plan. He was Draco Malfoy and he always got what he wanted. Even if what he wanted was a truly infuriating, bushy-haired, know-it-all with a hero complex and the most perfect pussy God had ever created.

                Of course, the one thing he didn’t plan on, didn’t factor into his schemes, was for the witch herself to come sauntering in through the doorway as if she hadn’t abandoned him for three days. The girl had the nerve to stroll casual as you please towards him, seating herself at his side and smiling as if she hadn’t LEFT HIM ALONE FOR THREE DAMNED DAYS!

                Draco did what any self-respecting Slytherin would do. He stood, casual as you fucking please, sneered down his nose at the girl, and stalked off to his room, slamming the door behind him. Surely that would teach her that she shouldn’t ignore him while showing her clearly that he didn’t actually care that she did. Of course, the fact that he had literally just spent hours planning how to get her back just to shun her when she came back of her own free will didn’t bear thinking about.

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                Hermione deserved that. She knew she did. He had opened up to her, even if just the tiniest bit, and offered to be her shoulder to cry on and she had left him, no explanation given or time asked for. And then she had avoided him and left him to come to his own conclusions in her absence. He was probably feeling pretty rejected and lashing out. But she had come back and he would, too, when he was ready. She would give him whatever time he needed.

                _Bugger that,_ she thought as she got to her feet. _He invaded my shower when he wanted to talk, so he is going to have to deal with me now that I want to talk_.

                Hermione was aware that she was being irrational and high-handed, just as she had done with Ginny, but couldn’t really be bollocksed to care. Knowing that she would need every weapon in her arsenal, Hermione stepped into her bedroom to prepare herself for war. Every soldier needed a uniform and so Hermione donned hers, stripping out of the corduroys and jumper she had borrowed from Ginny that morning and pulling a pair of sheer green knickers up her thighs. Remembering his reaction to her oversized t-shirt, she pulled a threadbare quidditch tee, once belonging to Harry truth be told, out of her wardrobe and put it on. Conjuring a full-length mirror she surveyed her reflection.

             The shirt was large, but Harry wasn’t as big as Ron so it didn’t have quite the same look. A swish later and the neck of the shirt stretched out to slip off her shoulder very enticingly. A flick and the color changed from a deep maroon to emerald green and the POTTER scrawled across the back reconfigured into an unmistakable, highly stylized dragon. It was as close to his name as she was willing to brand herself with, even if only temporarily. Hermione mussed her hair a bit more, giving her a just-rolled-out-of-bed look, pinched her cheeks for color, and, looking around to ensure no one was watching even though she knew it was ridiculous, twisted her nipples into hardened points easily seen through the thin material.

            Uniform complete, Hermione contemplated her weapons. Every soldier needed an arsenal, after all. Hermione decided and assault on his senses was the best way to go. Well, her looks would disarm him temporarily. What about smell? Hermione dabbed her pulse points with her favorite perfume which had hints of vanilla and musk. It reminded her of her mum and baking cookies on Sundays. For taste she used her own version of a freshening charm, which cleaned her teeth and left behind a flavor unique to the caster, in her case, vanilla and coffee. To attack his sense of touch, Hermione charmed her body smooth and hairless and then rubbed moisturizer into every inch of skin she could reach. She would deal with sound when he decided to listen to her.

           There wasn’t anything else she could think to do to get his attention. She was truly sorry for avoiding him and wanted to talk to him, see him, listen to his troubles. But first she had to get him to look at her and welcome her back. She wasn’t above using whatever means necessary and knew that the Slytherin side of him would probably approve of her tactics.

_Girl, get real. His dick is going to approve of your tactics before his head will have a chance to even figure out what hit him._

          Straightening her spine and steeling her nerves, Hermione left the safety of her own room to the relative unknown of his. She knocked on his door smartly, anticipating one of two scenarios. Either he would ignore her or he would open the door and sling insults at her. Ok. Three scenarios. He could also open the door and act completely unaffected by her, rejecting her as she obviously had rejected him. Fine. Fine. Four scenarios. He could also hurl insults at her without opening the door. Great. Now she was nervous again, not knowing what he would do, just as she had been when he had stood so close to her that first night.

         Draco opened the door. So what would it be, insults or nonchalance? His lips were raised in a sneer and his nostrils flared as if he smelled something unpleasant. He opened his mouth to say something when her image must have finally registered in his brain because no words came out.

_Direct hit._

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                Draco was pretty sure he was having a stroke. His brain was misfiring and the only thought remaining was a picture of Hermione in sheer green knickers, what appeared to be a Slytherin quidditch tee falling off her shoulder, sex hair, and her bottom lip caught in between her teeth. He was obviously hallucinating because there was nothing he had done in recent memory to cause the fates to bless him in this way.

                The Hermione hallucination stepped closer to him and that scent, _her_ scent, engulfed him, filling his nose and making his head spin. He breathed deeply, filling his lungs with her. _Merlin,_ he had missed that scent. Fingers tiptoed up his chest and around his neck, pulling his head down until his lips were a scant inch away from a softer pair, the lingering scent of coffee and vanilla strong enough for him to taste.

                “Draco,” whispered across his lips. “I’m sorry. Please, I want you…to… talk to me.”

                Those fingers slid down his arms and grasped his hands, pulling them to rest on very real hips, before meeting behind his neck once more. From one breath to the next she was in his arms, smooth legs wrapped around his waist, breasts flattened against his chest, and lips pressed to his own. It was somewhere between tangling his tongue with hers and filling his hands with her ass that his brain caught up and he realized she wasn’t a hallucination, he wasn’t having a stroke, and that this was really happening.

                He was still upset with her but also…didn’t really care about that too much at the moment. Hermione pulled away from his mouth with a whimper. That whimper. The same whimper that had led them to this situation to begin with. Well, to the situation that made this situation possible. _Shite,_ he couldn’t think straight.

                “I want to talk to you,” the petite witch repeated. “To explain…”

                “After,” Draco snarled before claiming her mouth once more. He tightened his grip on her bum, pulling her flush against his hardened cock and reveling in the moan that spilled from her lips and into his. Lips that he sucked between his own, nipping and licking before reacquainting his tongue with the inside of her mouth.

                He needed a bed. Or a wall. Whatever. A few strides and he had her pinned beneath him in the center of his bed, her hair spread across his pile of pillows and her legs spread wide to accommodate his hips. Draco pulled her hands high above her head, grasping both her wrists in one hand so he could jerk her shirt up, taking one pert breast fully into his mouth, circling her nipple with his tongue over and over again.

                There were those sounds again. She was so vocal and uninhibited in her pleasure. He didn’t have to ask if she liked something, or guess, or manipulate her into revealing her desires to him. He knew the moment he did something whether it was well-received by the sound she made. There was a hierarchy to her sex sounds. Gasps were first, followed by whimpers, moans, kitten mewls, keening, animalistic grunts and finally, the scream. It was his goal to elicit the scream.

                His attentions to her breast were pulling whimpers out of her plush lips. It wasn’t enough. He wanted more from her. She had been able to ignore him for three days. He was going to make damn sure she could never ignore him again. He would brand her with his cock and his mouth and his hands, tattoo his sex on her muscle memory until her body’s automatic response was to crave him, to clench in anticipation of being filled by him, to seek him out.

                He released her breast with a wet plop, commanded she keep her hands where he left them, and slid down her body to find her waiting and wet for him. He licked her through her panties. A gasp. Again. Again. Again. The whimper. Over and over, he licked and lapped, finding her clit through the material and sucking it between his teeth. He had her keening before he tore away the thin barrier of her soaked knickers and put his tongue to her bare flesh, slurping her juices into his mouth and stabbing three fingers into her wet heat, curling them and dragging them across her spongy walls until…she…screamed, his name echoing off the stone walls.

                He had her flipped with her ass in the air and her cheek buried in the pillows before she had finished climaxing and was buried balls deep in her before the first aftershock hit her. He rode her hard, his hips slapping against the plump mounds of her ass, his hands digging bruises into her hips as he pounded into her, a man possessed. It wasn’t enough. He wanted still more from her. She was such a tiny thing, especially compared to him, that it took no effort at all to sit back on his haunches, wrapping an arm around her waist and dragging her up and onto his lap, her legs spread on either side of his thighs and her head pulled back onto his shoulder.

                He fucked up into her, pushing her down to meet his thrusts harder and faster until she was grunting, a sure sign that she was close to another orgasm. “Touch yourself, Hermione,” he commanded, desperate to feel her cunt milking his cock and hear his name once again come from her mouth. He watched her lower her hand to her swollen clit, circling it faster and faster with the tips of two fingers in time with his ceaseless battering of her pussy.

                Draco felt her pussy flutter, like her pulse had against his palm on the train, and latched onto her shoulder, biting down and sucking hard as she exploded around him, his name bouncing around the room. He didn’t scream her name aloud when he came, shooting rope after rope of pent up seed deep inside her, but inside his head it repeated like a mantra, like a prayer, until he was empty and spent.

                He lowered them both to the bed, not pulling out of her body, until they were spooned together in the wreckage that constituted his bedding, both sweaty and panting hard. He pulled her hair away from his face and her neck, and tenderly left a trail of feather-light kisses along the mark he had left on her shoulder. Hermione tilted her head to give him better access, and he kissed along her ear and her jaw line until exhaustion overcame him and he slipped into a deep sleep, the first decent sleep either of them had had since Wednesday night.

                Sometime during the night he awoke, hard and aching, his left arm pillowed under her neck and his right thrown over her waist, hand cupping her breast. He pulled her atop him and woke her with slow and dreamy kisses, entering her just as her eyelashes finished fluttering open and her whiskey colored eyes met his. She rocked against him soft and slow until they both came with a sigh before falling asleep still astride him, her nose buried in his neck. They didn’t wake again until the sun was high in the sky and only then because of the heavy pounding on their dorm room entrance.


	10. Words Said in Anger

Chapter 10: Words Said in Anger

                Hermione woke suddenly, at least physically. Mentally she was still mostly asleep and her brain couldn’t quite process what was happening around her. For instance, her eyes saw sumptuous bedding vastly different from her own humble yet comfortable set, but her brain didn’t relate this unfamiliar bedding with Draco, or even acknowledge that it wasn’t Hermione’s own bedding. She merely blinked a few times to clear the haze of sleep from her eyes.

                Her skin felt the softness of silk sheets, the warmth of a heavy comforter, and the coarse hair of male legs against the back of her thighs but her brain didn’t linger on any of these sensations. She simply arched her back and pointed her toes to stretch her legs and shake off lingering tiredness in her limbs.

                Likewise, her nose recognized the scent of sandalwood and musk and expensive cologne and sex but her brain ignored it all. She took a deep breath which turned into a yawn and rolled towards the source of the smell, burying her nose in a fragrant neck and tucking herself more closely to the warmth and firmness next to her.

                Her ears similarly heard the knocking at the door but her brain chose to ignore it in favor of the sound of deep and even breaths and a steady heartbeat beneath her. That steady lub-dub was lulling her back to sleep by the time her brain caught up and she shot up, suddenly wide awake and frantic. So frantic that she ended up tangled in the bedding and falling with a loud smack and the resulting groan of pain to the floor.

                Draco must have woken up by then because his stupidly blonde head peered over the side of the bed, equally blonde eyebrow arched and perfect lips spread in an amused smile. Hermione watched as he became aware of the steady _knock knock knock_ on the door. His face drained of color and his head turned slowly, like something out of a horror movie, towards the common room before darting back to her face. Hermione’s eyes widened and she gestured to her undignified position on the floor, explaining it without needing any words. Draco nodded once, _accio’d_ his wand, and set about to swishing, waving, flicking, and twirling, clearing the air, righting the bedclothes, and gathering their strewn clothing into two neat piles.

                Hermione hastily dressed and ran to her own room, closing the door behind her and changing into flannel trousers and a long, thermal t-shirt. She threw her hair up into a messy bun, using her own wand to hold it in place after casting a few cleansing charms, and grabbed the closest book she could get her hands on. As an afterthought she dipped her quill and splattered a bit of ink on her hand and across a piece of parchment, notes for her charms project. She could claim she had been studying and had muffled her room so as not to be disturbed.

                She heard Draco yell, “Keep your shirt on!” and then heard him open the door to their dorm. When she heard him ask, “What do you want?” she decided to make an appearance.

                Opening her bedroom door, book in hand and “reading”, Hermione feigned surprise at seeing the common room occupied. “Oh, I was…Neville? What’s wrong?”

                “It’s about time, ‘Mione! I’ve been knocking forever. Not to kill the mood or interrupt or whatever but I’m desperate! Can Draco spare you for a little while?” Neville looked from Hermione’s calm face to Malfoy’s confused yet cautious one. A face that quickly went blank, eyebrow lifting imperiously.

                “That is creepy. A little too Snape-like, if you ask me. But seriously, I need your girlfriend for a couple of hours so can she come out to play?” Neville was very amused to see the blank expression crack and panic settle in. Draco’s grey eyes widened and darted back and forth between Neville and Hermione like he was watching a muggle tennis match. “Relax, I’m a vault. Nobody is going to hear about it from me.”

                “I don’t know what you’re implying, Longbottom, but clearly you’ve been breathing in some toxic fumes or something because…”

                “He knows, Draco. He can be trusted. I’m going to go help him out for a little bit. I’ll be back before dinner, ok? Do you want to go to the Great Hall together or…?” Hermione didn’t bother to correct Neville’s use of the word ‘girlfriend’ and was waiting to see what Draco would say about it.

                She watched as his shields came back up and sighed, knowing what was coming. “I don’t see why you would think I would want to be seen walking with you, Granger. We have an understanding, nothing more. I don’t need, nor do I want, a girlfriend.”

                Taking the high road, Hermione merely shrugged and replied, “Well, if I don’t see you before dinner, enjoy your evening. Neville, give me a second to throw on some shoes and we can go.”

                “I’ll wait outside. The tension is a little thick in here. Bye, Draco,” Neville called as he left the two lovers alone.

                Hermione had two choices. She could a) ignore his comment or b) start a fight and demand he label whatever it was they were doing. Ok, so three choices because she could also just go with the vibe he was putting out and agree with his assessment of their…relationship. They had an understanding, a mutual attraction that would go nowhere outside of these walls. Draco didn’t really let her choose, though. He jumped into a fight rather quickly.

                “What the fuck, Granger? Blabbing to Longbottom about our…whatever the hell this is? Did you give him details, too, like how big my cock is? Did you ever think I might not be okay with you talking about something private with fucking Longbottom of all people?”

                “Like you never talked to your friends about your conquests? Please! I was a little freaked out, which I thought was obvious by the three days I spent avoiding you to try and figure it all out. I needed someone to talk to who wouldn’t judge me, or go running off to tell Harry and Ron. Neville is a great listener and he’s loyal as a Hufflepuff. He wouldn’t…won’t say anything. And he’s the one who told me I should just sleep with you to begin with, if I really wanted to.”

                “No, I’ve never bragged about any _conquest_ as you put it because I was raised to be a gentleman. Gentlemen don’t kiss and tell, Granger. You, obviously, weren’t raised to be a lady but I guess that’s a product of your muggle upbringing, to have no sense of propriety or decency.” Draco moved closer, towering over the petite witch to hiss angrily in her face. “And, lest you forget, even if I wanted to gab to my mates…I don’t currently have any! The only person who will speak to me is you and you fucking left me here for three damned days after I opened up to you and offered to listen to your troubles. You left me to go pour out your heart to Neville Fucking Useless Longbottom! Is that where you were? Fucking him and having a good laugh at my expense?”

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                Draco was livid. He could tell that he probably had a dark red flush high on his cheekbones. A red flush that only got redder when Hermione hauled off and smacked him. His head whipped to the side with the force of the blow and for the first time since he was out of the nursery he was tempted to hit a girl. His hands clenched at his sides but he took a deep steadying breath before turning his face back towards the bint who had struck him. Again.

                “Gentlemen go around insinuating women are whores, do they? Suggesting they would sleep with one man and then immediately turn around and slag around with another before crawling back to the first?” Hermione shoved him back a step. “Calling 12 year old girls nasty slurs and telling them you hope a basilisk kills them? Bullying firsties and gleefully watching as a madwoman tortures them with blood quills?” Another shove. “Planning the murder of a good man and letting death eaters into the school? Watching teenage girls tortured and doing nothing about it?” Shove. Shove. “Is that what gentlemen do?” Shove. “Remember, _Malfoy_ , that when you want to call someone’s character into question, it’s best to do it with someone who doesn’t actually know yours. I’ve seen you and I know you and I looked past it anyway and gave you a chance. More fool I, it seems.”

                Before Draco could defend himself, apologize, lob more insults of his own, she was gone, once again leaving him alone. Draco turned and punched the wall behind him, bellowing in pain as something in his hand made a distinctive crunch. Fuck! Summoning Hermione’s bag from the room she left open, once again, he retrieved the bone mending potion and chugged it. He might as well use her potions since it was her fault he was in this mess to begin with!

                Stupid witch and her stupid admonitions. As if he didn’t know he was a shitbag human being who had done horrible things. As if he didn’t regret every last bit of it. As if he actually meant what he said about Longbottom. She should have known it was said to protect himself. He was feeling exposed and vulnerable, damn it, and that slap fucking hurt!

Still angry with her and even more so with himself, Draco let loose on the common room. He slashed the couch to ribbons, fluffy stuffing filling the small space. He hacked at the tables, smashed the porcelain sink and toilet, ripped the shower head out of the wall until water was gushing down and flooding the bathroom. He tore through his own room, bedding torn to ribbons and furniture obliterated, before he finally fell, exhausted, onto the pile of scraps that used to be his bed.

He felt better and yet still not. He regretted cleansing the room as he missed the scent of her on his sheets. Then he was angry for missing her. Draco rolled to his feet, his renewed anger giving him energy. He would show her. He marched steadfastly to her room, grabbed the box from its not-so-subtle hiding place, and dumped its contents out on the bed.

Picking up the first magazine, he tore page after page out, charming them to stick to every bare stone in their dorm. Magazine after magazine, he kept tearing and sticking until there weren’t any left. Then he pulled out her skimpy, see-through, lacy, and racy undergarments and hung them around her room. A quick charm later and the words, “are these the actions of a lady?” sprawled themselves across the pictures of witches and wizards, witches and other witches, and combinations of the two in numbers ranging from one on one to half a dozen at a time, all engaging in various sexual acts from heavy petting to hardcore fucking.

“See how she likes her privacy being invaded,” Draco mumbled, satisfied with his work. His stomach reminded him that potions took energy, as did wandwork, and he hadn’t eaten all day. He checked the time and realized Hermione had not come back before dinner as originally promised. In fact, dinner had started 5 minutes previous.

Checking his clothes to make sure he was presentable, Draco set off for the Great Hall. He refused to look at her as he took his seat at the end of the table and started filling his plate. He refused to look at her when he distinctly heard her voice calling him an insufferable prat and the voice of the female Weasley agreeing. He also refused to watch her as she stormed out of the Great Hall, Neville Longbottom calling out for her to come back.

Draco finished his meal having tasted none of it. He couldn’t tell you a single dish that had been served. His anger and his fear and his shame were a ball in the pit of his stomach that made enjoying his meal impossible. As soon as he could do so without drawing attention, he left, heading towards the dorm that he hoped Hermione had decided to avoid again so he could set it to rights before she saw it.

When he stepped into the room the first thing he noticed was that it was clean, all furniture repaired, including his own bedroom set, and all pictures had been removed from the wall. The second thing he noticed was that the witch surely responsible was not present, nor were her things as her room was stripped bare and returned to the state it was given to her in, basic furniture and no personal touches. She had moved out.

The final thing he noticed was a box, piled high with pictures of writhing women and grunting men torn from magazines. Atop the pile was a single piece of parchment on which the witch had scrawled:

Mr. Malfoy,

            This box was my revenge on Ron when he dumped me. I took his collection of wizarding pornography, all featuring witches who look nothing like me, knowing he couldn’t very well ask anyone if they had seen it and would never expect me of knowing about it, let alone taking it. I thought it was quite clever of me to leave him without his wanking material since he left me because I wouldn’t be around to fuck anymore and he wanted to be able to pursue other avenues of relief.

Do I think these are the actions of a lady? I notice you didn’t ask if I thought they were the actions of a gentleman, even though most of these pictures contain wizards also engaged in these acts and some of them contain more than one wizard! I wonder if it is considered gentlemanly for 6 wizards to share 1 witch, as is depicted in the topmost picture.

Regardless, men and women, witches and wizards, are the captains of their own ship. They can do whatever they like with their bodies as long as there is consent. Perhaps you should reflect on your own actions since the four pictures underneath that top one all depict acts you, yourself, have done with me within the last few days.

If I’m a whore, sir, so are you.

                                                        Kindly Fuck Off,

                                                            Hermione Granger

P.S. I hope you enjoyed playing with my underwear. You will never see them again, I assure you.

                Draco dropped the letter, grabbing the top few photos from the stack and glancing through them. The first did depict 6 wizards and only 1 witch. The witch was lying supine atop one wizard who had his cock buried in her back hole, while a second filled her front. Two more were being fisted by the curvy blonde while her head bobbed up and down on another’s erect prick before turning to the other side and lavishing oral attention on the sixth’s.

                The following pictures were like a timeline of their own interactions together. The first picture in the timeline depicted a buxom blonde with her body balled underneath a wizard who was thrusting hard and fast into her. The second picture clearly showed a wizard on his knees in a shower with his face buried in a witch’s snatch. This witch was also very curvy and quite blonde. The third showed another blonde with impossibly large breasts, impossible for her tiny waist anyway, being pounded from behind. She was bent over the side of a tub, not a shower stall, but it was close enough. The final picture showed another statuesque blonde witch sitting backward in a wizard’s lap, riding him like a bull.

                He wondered why there wasn’t a picture of their final encounter. Perhaps there wasn’t one that showed something that slow and tender. Or maybe she didn’t equate that act with any of these. Or maybe she didn’t want that act to be portrayed as the act of a whore, as he had apparently portrayed the others. Draco didn’t know. He just knew that he had fucked up the only halfway decent thing he had ever had, even if he had only had it for a few days. How he was going to fix it…fuck if he knew that either…but he wanted to fix it.

                Remembering what the witch had said earlier, tried to make him hear earlier, Draco left his rooms. A short walk, a loud knock, and he was staring at the face of Neville Longbottom. At least, until he was staring at the fist of Neville Longbottom. Then he stared at nothing but the blackness behind his eyelids for a while.

                Coming to a few minutes later, Draco was surprised to find himself in a common room with a roaring fire, comfortable couches, very male décor, and a very tall, newly handsome wizard with one hell of a right hook. The other boys must not have returned yet or Longbottom had sent them on their way. Either way, Draco was grateful.

                He opened his mouth to thank the Gryffindor for his discretion but what came out was, “Is she here? Do you have her?”

                “Have her?” Neville repeated. “Like she’s a pet you lost? No, I don’t _have_ her and for your peace of mind, I never _had_ her. She asked to be moved back to Gryffindor Tower.”

                “So, I’ll go there then,” Draco decided as he sat up, groaning at the pain in his temples but determine to carry on.

                “No use. They told her ‘no’ so she isn’t there. I don’t know where she is, if that’s why you came here. And I probably wouldn’t tell you, if I did.”

                “Actually, Hermione said you were a good listener and I need one of those right now. I fucked up. Badly. Colossally, actually, and I want to fix it but I don’t know how.” Draco swallowed his pride and waited for the lion to seal his fate.

                “Start by apologizing,” Neville answered.

                “If that’s what I have to do,” Draco relented. “I’m sorry, Longbottom, for calling you bumbling, and useless, and an idiot and for underestimating you…”

                “Not to me, you prat!” Neville interrupted. “To her. If you can find her. Honest and genuine apology is the way to go with Hermione. She is incredibly forgiving.”

                “I thought…”

                “You thought my price for helping you was for you to humble yourself? I’m not a Slytherin. We don’t operate that way. You admitted you made a mistake and are trying to fix it. So, I’ll help as much as I’m able. And that’s the extent of my ability, by the way. So, nice chatting with you, but I suggest you make yourself scarce before the others get back and pummel you into dust.”

                “Do they know what I did?” Draco was getting angry again.

                “No, they just don’t like you,” Neville answered with a laugh.

                Draco acknowledge him with a nod of his head and stood, turning to the door. He paused, thought a moment, and turned back to the other man. “Keep listening to her. She needs someone like you. She isn’t as ok as she is trying to make everyone think. She’s not ok at all, actually. And if she won’t talk to me, well, she might talk to you.”

                Neville’s eyes widened a bit before some thought must have struck him because he nodded as if he had just come to some realization and then looked back to Draco. “You might try Ravenclaw tower. Or Hagrid’s old hut.”

                Taking the information for the boon it was, Draco smiled briefly and went to find his witch.


	11. Forgiveness Must Be Earned

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco follows advice but it doesn't go quite the way he planned. Not a problem. He'll just come up with a new plan.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I apologize for the delay. If you are reading my other story you know what my past weekend was like. It delayed both stories. If you aren't reading the other story, my aunt succumbed to cancer and her funeral was Saturday. And then I had plans on Sunday with family.

Chapter 11: Forgiveness Must Be Earned

                Draco headed for Ravenclaw tower first, simply because it was closer than Hagrid’s hut and it made more sense to start there. He knew its location, having entertained himself with a number of Ravenclaw witches in his past, and that there was a riddle to gain entrance instead of a password. This did not deter him as he was quite determined to find Hermione and do what a Malfoy had surely never done before; admit that he was wrong, apologize and beg for forgiveness.

                The riddle wasn’t anything too taxing. He didn’t cheat his way to second highest marks, after all. I mean, really, “What can you put in a barrel to make it lighter”? Child’s play. He was striding through the Ravenclaw common room in the blink of an eye, steadfastly refusing to look away from the hostile glares he was receiving from all corners of the room. Arcs of the room? It was round so…whatever. Not important.

                “I’m looking for Granger,” he announced. “Tiny witch with more hair than I thought humanly possible? Bigger brain than all of you lot put together, though I’m sure you don’t want to admit that, eh? Best friends with Scarhead and Weaselbee? Ringing any bells?”

                “She isn’t here,” came a dreamy voice from the back of the room. Did circles have backs? “She isn’t in Ravenclaw, you know. She’s a lioness.”

                “Yes, Looney…er… _Lovegood._ Oddly enough, I was aware of that fact. We actually share a common room right now.”

                “Oh, then why aren’t you looking for her there? Seems the logical place to look,” Luna responded with a half smile.

                Draco was pretty sure the witch knew the answer to that already. Why she was acting like a daft bint he had no idea. She couldn’t be as dim as she acted since she was in Ravenclaw. He reminded himself that they were cousins of a sort and his father had held her prisoner for a little while and that meant he should be nice and he shouldn’t hex the girl, much as he wanted to right now. “She isn’t there and it was suggested that she might be here, with friends.”

                “Oh. That’s nice. I don’t know anyone here who is friends with her, but I’ll help you look in any case,” the blonde offered.

                “I thought you were friends with her,” Draco responded in confusion.

                “That’s sweet of you. We’re more acquaintances, really. I think she thinks I’m a bit funny in the head, you see, but she tolerates me well enough. Did you want my help, Draco? I’m sure with two sets of eyes, that we’ll find her twice as fast.”

                Draco contemplated the strange girl. She was very straightforward for someone with such a reputation of whimsy and a touch of madness. She was odd and he didn’t know why she wanted to help the boy who had helped keep her prisoner but she didn’t treat him like he was a leper and that was more than he could say for the rest of the school.

                “I appreciate the offer of your assistance,” he responded with every bit of genteelism instilled in him since birth. “Shall we?” Draco extended his arm in invitation.

                “Oh, that won’t be necessary. She’s down at Hagrid’s old hut. I saw her head that way an hour ago. She looked quite upset, you know. Determined, but upset. Like she had made a decision but wasn’t very happy about it. Her head was surrounded by wrackspurts.” Lovegood nodded sagely as if that explained everything. Then she smiled from ear to ear and clapped in delight. “See, I told you two sets of eyes would find her faster!”

                Draco wanted to strangle the strange witch currently beaming at him but there were laws against abusing the mentally ill and she had to be mad as a damned hatter. There was no other explanation. Clenching his teeth in a simulacrum of a smile, he thanked her and left without a backwards glance, glad to be rid of the loon yet feeling he had missed something important.

                Regretting going to Ravenclaw Tower when he should have just headed straight to the groundskeeper’s hut, Draco picked up his pace, hoping she hadn’t relocated already. Just his luck, September in Scotland was in full swing and it had gotten chilly, and wet. By the time he arrived at the little shack he was wet clear through and shivering. It was a sign of how sincerely distraught he was that it didn’t even occur to him to use magic to dry off and warm up.

                Forgoing a knock, Draco let himself into the former home of their former keeper of keys, sagging in relief at the sight of crazy corkscrew curls huddled in front of a roaring fire. He closed the door against the damp and removed his robe and shoes, stepping towards the source of heat and light and the fire, too, and sitting down next to the witch he had seriously wronged. He guessed he should have been worried that she didn’t yell or scream or hex him. Rather she ignored him completely as if he wasn’t even there. When she did finally speak, he kind of wished she had continued to ignore him.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                Hermione knew he was coming long before he arrived. Luna had sent her patronus hopping along ahead of him to give her the warning and the wards she had set alerted her as soon as he got within 50 meters of the hut. When he entered the room and got comfortable beside her, as if nothing had happened between them, as if he hadn’t done what he’d done, she took a few minutes to compose herself to ensure when she spoke she could do so with a steady voice.

                “When I was younger, my _grandmere_ was charged with watching me. She gave me my love of books and logic. It was just her and me most days and she treated me like an adult. We had discussions of all manner of things and she never grew tired of my questions. Then, when I was 6 or so, I went away to primary school instead of to her cottage. “

                Hermione’s heart hurt a bit thinking of the grandmother she had lost that first year of primary school. As if the year hadn’t been hard enough, her grandmother had fallen ill and hadn’t recovered. She shook off the memory of her beloved grandparent diminished in a hospital bed and continued her tale.

                “I thought this is going to be grand. I’ll meet more children and we’ll read and talk and solve puzzles and _learn_ together. But all of the children were dull and stupid, at least compared to me, and they didn’t want to talk to me or read with me or solve my puzzles. They thought me odd and called me names. They made fun of my hair and my freckles and my intelligence and made me feel small and unwanted.”

                She sniffled a bit remembering how the other kids had treated her and made her feel.

                “My first bit of magic happened at school the next year. A group of kids were calling me ‘bucktooth beaver’ and ‘bin head’, they used to throw things in my hair to see if it would stick, and I just wanted them to stop. I wanted them to go away. I wanted to be anywhere but there. I disappeared. I don’t know where I went but I was gone for two days. My family was frantic. My picture had been put on the news. The police were called.”

                Hermione remembered turning back up in the schoolyard, the sky darker than when she had left, and walking home to find officers in her sitting room and parents who were at first relieved that she had turned up and then worried that she didn’t remember where she had been, and then angry when she insisted she had just disappeared, like magic, no matter how many times they tried to get her to come up with a more reasonable, logical, plausible answer.

                “The other kids laughed. Said I had run away because I was a big baby and maybe I should stay home with mummy and daddy. As I got older, and my hair got bigger and my teeth got bigger and I didn’t get any prettier or even much taller, and I certainly didn’t get any dumber, any more average and normal and acceptable, the names just got worse. The accidental magic did too and then they called me a freak along with everything else. Until one day, they stopped.”

                Hermione chanced a glance out of the corner of her eye at the warm mass at her side. He was staring at the fire, jaw clenched in anger. On her behalf? Who knew? She looked away before he noticed her regard.

                “Not because the kids had suddenly decided they had had enough with their bullying ways. Not because they learned to appreciate my intelligence or because I got prettier or because I changed myself to suit them. No, they just decided I wasn’t worth it anymore. To the point that they ignored me, completely, for an entire year. Nobody spoke to me. Nobody sat next to me. Nobody played with me. Nobody even looked at me. They didn’t even bother cheating off of my work anymore. I became invisible. Even the teachers ignored me outside of when they called on me to answer a question in class.”

                Hermione recalled going entire days without speaking a word to anyone. There were days she didn’t raise her hand just to see if anyone would talk to her, if any of the teachers would ask her what was wrong. But none of them did. Maybe they were secretly glad the insufferable know it all had finally shut up.

                “And then I got my letter and finally it made sense. I was extraordinary because I had magic in my blood. I wanted to learn everything about this world that was where I was meant to be, where I would belong. I got here and it was grade school all over again. ‘Swot’, ‘bushy-haired’, ‘beaver’, ‘insufferable know it all’, ‘nightmare’, ‘ugly’, ‘mudblood’.”

She heard him hiss in a breath at that but ignored him. She needed to get it out before she lost her nerve, gave in to her need for acceptance, told him to forget about it and offered to cuddle on the floor and share potion’s notes.

“I still didn’t fit in. Everyone was still dull and stupid and they still didn’t want to talk to me or read with me or sit next to me. Things changed, of course, except where they didn’t. I wasn’t going to be accepted by this world because I was too different just like I was too different to be accepted by the muggles. And that’s fine. It is. I’m fine being different. I’m fine being extraordinary. I’m fine having a few close friends. I thought I had made another. Thought I found someone who knew the kind of crazy I was going through and could accept me. But I was wrong again. The names are just different now. Funny how a woman can be a slag and a whore with only two lovers under her belt. I think I prefer ‘swot’ and ‘mudblood’ to be honest.”

                Hermione didn’t bother looking at Draco to see how he was responding to her story. She just wanted him to leave so she could get some sleep and prepare for her classes tomorrow and pretend the last week hadn’t happened. Draco apparently had other ideas because his voice filled the small room.

                “I was raised by house elves. Until I was 5 or 6 I didn’t know they were supposed to be inferior beings. They doted on me. My parents were…well, my father was a very important and very busy man and my mother spoiled me and ignored me in turns. When I was old enough, my father scheduled me in to learn to be a pureblood gentleman. You can guess what my lessons were like. I was told I was the best, deserved only the best, and then I came here and you proved me wrong. You upended everything I believed in. If that wasn’t enough, every time I went home I got to hear about what a disappointment I was because a mudblood had beat me again.

                “Not that it excuses anything. I was a little shit. Still am, it seems. I never learned to share. I never learned to handle disappointment well. I certainly never learned to handle rejection. At all. I lashed out. I didn’t mean any of it and you didn’t deserve any of it and I am genuinely, honestly sorry. Please, Hermione, forgive me for being an unmitigated ass.”

                Hermione contemplated it. She did. She forgave easily, always wanting acceptance whether she wanted to admit it or not. He seemed sincere. She believed him and she wanted to forgive him and just get this day over with. But…

                “No,” she said. “I don’t forgive you. What you did was out of line and I shouldn’t have to forgive you. You shouldn’t expect it of me. You need to grow up and learn to control yourself, learn to deal with disappointment and rejection like an adult. Words have power, Draco. Yours hurt me and I’ve had enough hurt for this lifetime.”

                She felt rather than saw him stand. He moved away from the fire and she heard the sound of him putting his robe and shoes back on. “I understand and I am sorry. You don’t have to stay out here. Come back to the dorm when you’re ready. I promise to leave you alone. You won’t even know I’m there,” he promised from the doorway.

                Hermione nodded once, eyes still locked on the dancing flames in the fireplace. The door clicked shut and Hermione curled up on Hagrid’s bed, unable to escape the feeling that she had just made a mistake.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                Draco trudged back through the mist, shoulders heavy with the weight of his most recent screw up. He had let his impulsiveness ruin something very new but potentially very good. Again. But he hadn’t been lying. He didn’t handle rejection and disappointment well and he had no intention of letting this stay ruined. He was used to getting what he wanted and he was tired of being angry and depressed and alone. So he would give her space and he would keep his distance and he would show her that he could change, could mature.

                And then, he would do what Malfoys do best. He would get exactly what he wanted. And if that was still her, then Merlin help anyone who stood between them, be they friends or lovers. And they better not be lovers. Until then, though, he still had to make it through the daily grind and he really was tired of being alone. Perhaps he needed to make some friends.

                He contemplated Slytherin House, quickly dismissing that option since, you know, they kind of wanted him dead or at least a distant memory they didn’t have to stare at every day. He would never, ever, ever befriend a Hufflepuff. Ever. He was pretty sure there was only one Gryffindor who wasn’t currently terrified of him or wanting to kick his ass. And the only Ravenclaw giving him the time of day was certifiable.

                Well, if he could survive Pansy, he was sure he could survive Longbottom and Lovegood. And they had the added benefit of being friends with one Hermione whatever-her-middle-name-was Granger. If he got in good with _them_ , they could put in a good word with _her._ Decision made, Draco wasted no time in setting his plan into motion. First stop, Neville Longbottom.

                He let himself stay wet and ragged, figuring it made him look as pathetic as he was actually feeling, and knocked dejectedly, hoping it was the tall wizard who answered and not one of the others. It seemed his luck was turning around a bit because Longbottom opened the door a moment later, apparently took pity on him, and pulled him inside. Draco was a bit nervous when the notoriously clumsy wizard pointed his wand in Draco’s direction but a second later he found himself once again dry and warm.

                “Thanks,” he mumbled. “I tried your advice. Didn’t work out so well, mate.”

                Neville looked confused for a moment. “Did you expect her to just kiss and make up just like that? Blimey, don’t you know anything about women? Don’t worry, she’ll come around. She forgives; I told you. She doesn’t hold grudges.”

                “No, I think she means it. She’s staying in that hut and won’t even come back to the dorm; she’s so angry. She said she doesn’t forgive me. That she won’t and that I shouldn’t even ask her to.” Draco didn’t have to fake the hurt in his voice, even if he was somewhat misrepresenting their interaction.

                “She will. Hang in there. I’ll talk to her tomorrow and see where her head is. Meanwhile, looks like you could use a drink. I’ve got some firewhiskey,” Longbottom offered.

                “I just want to sleep and pretend this day never happened. Thanks, though,” Draco answered, making sure to look extra upset even though he wanted to crow at Longbottom’s quick offer to talk to Hermione on his behalf. This was almost too easy. “I guess I’ll see you around.”

                Draco dragged himself back to the doorway, head hung low and shoulders slumped. He made it one step out into the hall before he heard a shouted “wait” and hid his smirk just in time for the lanky wizard to grab him by the arm and spin him around.

                “Look,” he started a bit hesitantly. “I know we haven’t gotten along and don’t have too much in common but, well, it looks like you’re trying to change and I think that should count for something. I guess what I’m saying is…my door is open if you need someone to talk to or study with or whatever.”

                Inwardly, Draco was crowing. Outwardly he schooled his features to show humility and nodded, a quick dip of his head to show acceptance. “Might take you up on that,” he replied before turning and trudging back to his empty dorm.

                Tomorrow he would approach the lunatic and play nice. She might not think she was friends with Hermione, but she was close enough to be useful and that was all that mattered to Draco. Malfoys always got what they wanted and he wasn’t going to be the one to break that streak. Not when the stakes were so high.


	12. Mornings Are Hard

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione both have rough mornings.

Chapter 12: Mornings Are Hard

                Hermione did not sleep well. She knew she wasn’t going to. Emotional exhaustion had pulled her into sleep but emotional distress had propelled her out of it again, the memory, the nightmare returning in full force. This time Draco taunted her before casting the unforgiveable. He cut away her clothes, revealing her lacy knickers and lack of a bra, and carved _slag_ into the space between her bare breasts before summoning a few faceless Death Eaters to reenact one of the acts he had deemed _unladylike_ from the contraband magazines. She woke screaming and clutching at an imaginary wound right over her heart, trying desperately to ignore the not so imaginary pain in it.

                Terrified of what she would see if she went back to sleep, Hermione huddled under her school robes and watched the flames of the fireplace until dawn broke over the horizon and filled the hut with the light of a new day that, God willing, would be better than the last. Resigning herself to deal with whatever came, Hermione rose and dressed for the day, making due with cleansing charms since Hagrid didn’t have a shower and she would probably drown if she tried to bathe in his massive tub.

                Fortunately, she had classes to keep her mind at least marginally occupied and more to the point, none of them were with one impossibly blonde, impossibly arrogant, impossibly impossible Slytherin! That still left meals to contend with, of course, but she could face the other way, engage in conversation with her…friends…and pretend he wasn’t sitting just two tables over from her. She could do this. She could. She would.

                _Leave the hut, Hermione,_ she commanded herself. _Where is that courage the Hat saw? Chin up and get in there so you can show him…no, don’t think about him. Think about you. You are a strong, independent woman, a free thinker, and you don’t care what some arrogant, pigheaded, backwards thinking…damn it, there you go thinking of him again! Arrgh!_

                Hermione shook her head, squared her shoulders, and stepped out into the hazy light of a misty September morning in Scotland. Her anger had propelled her down the steep slopes to the hut the previous evening and her steadfast resolve was what propelled her right back up them this morning, otherwise there was no way she would have made it considering how absolutely exhausted she was. But made it she did and she entered the Great Hall with head held high, even though it was far too early for there to be much of an audience for her grand entrance as a shining example of female empowerment.

                Ginny was up, probably due to an early practice session on the pitch seeing as she was surrounded by fellow players groaning over plates piled high with foods heavy in energy giving carbohydrates, mugs full of caffeine close at hand. And Neville was seated as well, grinning contentedly and already a bit dirty, evidence that he had already been to the greenhouses for a tutorial with Professor Sprout. A quick glance around and she easily spotted Luna’s bright white locks, long enough now to hang past the edge of the bench she was sitting on. What she did not expect to spot was an equally as bright head of hair bent towards hers, as if listening closely to whatever the girl was saying.

                Curious as to why Luna was interacting with Draco Malfoy, of all people, but hellbent on ignoring his existence, Hermione turned away and made a beeline for Neville. Of course, she faced a bit of a conundrum when she reached him. Should she sit with her back to the Ravenclaw table, since _the git_ was sitting there, or with her back to the Slytherin table in case he was only having a brief chat with the younger witch and would be returning to his rightful place?

                Neville solved the problem for her by oh-so-casually commenting, “Draco carried his plate over there not five minutes ago. He’ll probably be there for the duration.”

                “Like I care,” Hermione scoffed before sitting, oh-so-casually with her back to the Ravenclaw table. “And since when do you call him ‘Draco’?” she asked as she began her morning porridge routine, once again oblivious to the looks of awe from the few who were there to witness her scarily impressive use of wandless magic.

                “Since he came to me frantic to know where you were so he could make things right, apologized for his ill treatment of me, stalked the castle in search of you, and then returned to me pretty pathetic looking when you rejected him. A Malfoy showing humility like that? I’d say he’s worth a chance,” Neville responded, looking her dead in the eye.

                “I gave him a chance; you know I did,” Hermione hissed. “I’ve been through enough that I shouldn’t have to put up with his childish behavior or insults because _he’s_ trying to change and sometimes might slip up. His recovery isn’t my problem and I will not sit here…”

                “Whoa, ‘Mi, calm down before you break something,” Neville said soothingly, hands resting on her shoulders before rubbing soothingly down her arms and back again until she calmed enough that the flatware stopped bouncing around the table, oblivious to the pair of molten silver eyes glaring at him, specifically at _his_ hands on _her_ arms.

                “I’m not saying you have to sit and take anything. I’m just saying that I’m giving him a chance. And apparently so is Luna. He might be more _around_ than you were planning for, is all.”

                Hermione thought about that, of the implications of Draco becoming friends with her friends, and though she hated the idea of having to face him, she was glad he was reaching out and wouldn’t be alone. She sighed, resigned.

                “We’ll just have to come up with a schedule,” she announced pragmatically.

                “Hermione, you have got to be joking,” Neville scoffed incredulously. “A schedule to see my friends? That’s ridiculous.”

                “Well, fine, then you go ahead and be friends with _Draco_ and I guess I’ll see you whenever you decide you have time for me.” Hermione knew she wasn’t being fair and she sounded like a spoiled brat, but she couldn’t seem to make herself stop. She was tired and cranky and Draco _Sodding_ Malfoy was stealing her friends!

                “For Circe’s sake,” Neville groaned. “You were my first friend here, ‘Mi. I’m not replacing you with him, with anybody. But I won’t let you guilt me into not doing the right thing, and making peace with him is the right thing to do. I understand why you’re upset with him, I do, and I get why you won’t forgive him for it. I won’t push you back into his arms or anything. I’m just not going to avoid the bloke because you two have had a falling out.”

                Neville finished his last bite of sausage, kissed Hermione on the forehead, and left, once again unaware of the steely eyes watching his every move. Hermione blinked rapidly, willing the tears not to fall, as her friend walked away from her. She knew she was being unreasonable and her shoulders slumped as she finally gave up. She wouldn’t seek him out but she wouldn’t actively avoid him either. If he happened to be with her friends when she sought their company, well, she would simply ignore him. She had spent nigh on seven years ignoring him and was sure she was up for the task, even though she was totally oblivious to the size and feel of his cock during those seven years or the way his eyes would turn liquid right before he came, or the way her name sounded on his lips as he worshipped her body.

                Hermione quelled those thoughts with the memory of his face as he accused her of slagging around. Yeah, she could ignore him. Would ignore him. For the sake of her friends and his recovery, she would be the better person and not hex him no matter how bad she wanted to.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                Draco thanked his skills in occlumency for keeping him calm enough to not murder the stark raving mad bint prattling on about nargles next to him or the stupidly handsome wizard who put his hands and his _lips_ on Hermione. She was his, had been his, and would be his again and his new “friend” had better keep. His. Damned. Hands. OFF!

                His inner rage didn’t show one iota on his face as he smiled and nodded and insisted he was sure there was an infestation of nargles in his father’s office at the manor, come to think of it. He ate out of habit more than hunger, unsure of what he was even putting in his mouth. He finally mumbled out a promise to meet to study later and left the hall, following the Gryffindor out and down the hall until they passed an alcove where he could pull the boy aside.

                “Listen, Malfoy, while I’m flattered,” Neville joked.

                “Hardy har har, Longbottom. Funny. Now spill,” Draco commanded.

                “Spill what? She’s tired and cranky and being ridiculous. She’ll come around. So don’t be a complete prat to her when she does and she’ll forgive you eventually. Now, you spill,” Neville said with arms and legs crossed casually as he leaned back against the wall.

                “Spill what?” Draco asked in confusion.

                “Luna,” Neville stated simply.

                “Does anybody in charge here know just how insane she is? She’s a danger to regular folk, I’m sure of it. By Merlin, she’s certifiable,” Draco groaned, running his hands through his hair and down his face. “Talking to her is…it’s just…how can anybody…bloody looney…” Draco spluttered.

                Neville laughed, head thrown back and amusement rumbling out of him. He laughed so hard he had to wipe tears from his eyes and bend at the waist to try and catch his breath. Draco was not amused. Really. He wasn’t. He smirked. And he might have chuckled a bit. Okay, fine, he found himself slumped over against the wall wheezing for air just as badly as Neville. When he finally caught his breath he slumped down on the window ledge and stared out at the forest beyond.

                “It’s nice, though, talking to her,” Draco stated once he could breathe again, tone full of sincerity and probably a bit of wistful sadness. “She doesn’t expect anything from me and doesn’t hold anything against me. She doesn’t want to discuss the war or what went wrong or what went right or what I would have done differently. She asked about my mother, you know, like she actually cared. It was…a nice change of pace.”

                “Yeah, Luna’s pretty amazing,” Neville agreed. “Just don’t go trying to use her to make Hermione jealous or anything.”

                “Now here we were having a civil conversation and you had to go and ruin it,” Draco grumbled, glaring at the other man.

                “What? She’s gorgeous, smart, and kind, too. I was a bit mad for her for a little while. I can see the attraction…” Neville responded, his lips tilted as if trying to hold back a grin.

                “She’s my cousin,” Draco interjected, really needing the other wizard to shut up and stop grossing him out with talks of any kind of romantic interest with the weird witch.

                “As if that was ever a problem for the Sacred Twenty-eight,” Neville said quite snarkily.

                “She looks like a miniature version of my mum, Neville. If she had never gone through finishing school and raided a muggle charity bin for her wardrobe. And never learned any beauty charms. So, alright, not a lot like my mum but enough to ensure the only ‘attraction’ is that she is one of two people in this castle who will willingly speak to me. Beggars can’t be choosers when it comes to their…friends.”

                Neville clapped Draco on the shoulder in sympathy. “We’re not that bad, you’ll see. Anyway, much as I’ve enjoyed this ambush-induced conversation, I’ve got to bathe before class. Where you headed?”

                _Here you go, Draco. Remember, pitiable but believable. Friends. You need to make friends._

                “Potions, actually. Ol’ Sluggy’s got me marking essays, organizing and ordering ingredients, and assisting with his potion experiments before and after classes. He won’t call it an official apprenticeship, though. Probably doesn’t want to be associated with a…uh…a Malfoy. I bet anything the headmistress put him up to it. Not that I care,” Draco was quick to assert. “It’s fairly interesting work and he says he’ll credit me if any of my suggestions prove successful.”

                Neville smiled a bit ruefully, not missing the note of hope buried under the outright disbelief, though whether the disbelief was due to the promise of credit or the idea of one of Slughorn’s experiments succeeding, Neville wasn’t sure. Probably a bit of both, really. He really did feel bad for Draco’s circumstances. Yeah, he had been a prat, but he didn’t deserve what he was going through and Neville hoped that this apparent change of heart was legitimate and things would start looking up for the blonde wizard.

                “Want to eat lunch together?” Neville offered.

                Draco seriously considered it. Granger would show up. Might even sit down just to show him how much she didn’t care about him or something. Or she’d see him there and storm off to the kitchens to eat instead. She couldn’t avoid him forever, though.

                “I don’t think Hermione really wants me eating lunch with you lot,” Draco answered all gracious and attuned to his witch’s needs.

                “She’ll get used to it. What do the muggles call it; immersion therapy?”

                “You’re as mad as Lovegood if you think I know anything about what muggles call anything. I’m trying but…” Draco trailed off. Let Longbottom come to his own conclusions as to how that sentence was going to end.

                “Right. Well, I think you should eat with us is what I’m saying. Think about it. I gotta run,” Neville called as he left the alcove and darted down the hall.

                Draco huffed out a relieved breath. Things were going to plan. He was sure that ingratiating himself to Hermione’s friends was the way to get back in her good graces. And that was worth enough to him to endure the mad ramblings of Luna _Looney_ Lovegood and the too-easy camaraderie of Longbottom. And if it meant he didn’t have to go through entire days where he spoke to no one, all the better.

                Draco mentally prepared himself for an hour of Slughorn’s overbearing exuberance and tactless advice on how to “fix” his uncertain future. He stood taller, straightened his robes, used his reflection in the window to tidy his hair and perfect his “I couldn’t possibly give less of a fuck” expression and strode, nose in the air, towards the potions classroom.

                It was thinking of apprenticeships and private tutelage that had him remembering that Hermione would be meeting with McGonagall that afternoon and if he arrived early enough for his own time with the great cat he just might run into her. He grinned at the possibility of an opportunity to interact with her and was still grinning when he entered Slughorn’s domain. Too bad he wouldn’t be smiling when he left.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

 

                Hermione went through her day by rote, listening to lectures, taking notes, reading chapters, stirring cauldrons, flicking wands, and none of it required the use of her brain. At all. So she was left to think and daydream and remember. And try to forget. She could barely concentrate through her morning classes and before she realized time was passing, it was lunch. She walked in a bit of a haze through the halls, passing by the headmistress without really seeing her or responding to her greeting for that matter.

                She was seated and ladling a hearty stew into her bowl before her brain could acknowledge that directly across from her was Neville with Ginny to his right, glaring around his back at one very sullen looking Slytherin seated to his left. He wasn’t looking at the redhead, or at the wizard playing mediator between the two. He wasn’t even looking at Hermione. He was staring, sulking really, into his own bowl of stew as he tore a crusty roll into pieces so small Hermione was pretty sure dust couldn’t compete.

                _Don’t, Hermione. Remember, ignore him. Ignore him. Ignore-_

“What did that roll ever do to you?” Neville asked before Hermione could lose her resolve.

                Draco apparently came to because he blinked a few times, grimaced at the crumby mess in his hands, and dumped the lot of it into his bowl. He sneered as he looked at the other man and Hermione braced herself for his trademark snark. Here it was. He was going to say something rude or hurtful and show her again why she needed to steer clear of him.

                “The slug got one of his potions working. I suggested half…HALF!...of the ingredients and their quantities and he promised…and if I hadn’t corrected the number of counterclockwise turns after adding the asphodel, the old snake would've blown himself up! I should’ve known better from him. Loyalty to their own, my ass. That one got all of the ambition and none of the other Slytherin characteristics. And then it’s just another wonderful morning with the professors of Hogwarts. What’s the point of even going to classes when I practically teach myself and the oh-so-noble professors ignore my existence completely?

                “Oh, and let’s not forget how even the Hufflepuffs throw jinxes at me in the halls. I think I preferred being stuck in the manor with nobody but house elves to talk with to this nonsense. Here I thought the ministry was throwing me a boon, letting me come back here, but now I know better. They wanted to torture me! Give me back as good as I gave out. I get it already. I was a prat, a real ass, a bully and I made some people’s lives hell but, Merlin, I lived with Death Eaters and Voldemort for crying out loud. I’ve been tortured and lived through actual hell so you’d think they’d realized I already learned that lesson but I guess they think I need just a bit more to really build my character!”

                It seemed that once Draco got going, he couldn’t really stop. He dropped all of the injustices he had been facing in the other wizard’s lap, seemingly oblivious to the wide-eyed attention of the two Gryffindor witches, one the color of fresh-turned earth and full of reluctant pity, the other the color of fall leaves with hints of red and gold and reflecting regret, sympathy, and memory.

                Hermione couldn’t help but remember seeing him broken and bleeding on the floor. She couldn’t help but remember _being_ broken and bloody on _his_ floor. He had looked thin, haunted, and afraid. She hadn’t really considered what he might have been going through that year, not in any real sense. She felt…she didn’t know what she felt but she didn’t really hate him and she was angry, yes, but she could be angry and still feel sympathetic, offer comfort where she could. Hell, she had been friends with Ron Weasley for 7 years and if that didn’t prove she could be angry and still be civil, she didn’t know what did.

                So she tossed out the idea of outright ignoring the blonde and spoke. Or tried to. Ginny beat her to it, actually.

                “What did you expect? Did you think everyone here would just ignore what you put them through, what your friends and your parents and their parents did to all of us? You might not have been casting the curses but you’re the face everyone has to look at day in and day out, the constant reminder. I look at you and I have to see Remus and Tonks and Fred, dead because of a war _you_ wanted and made damn sure would happen.

                “Neville here has had a lifetime to get used to what your lot did to his mum and dad and maybe that’s why he can separate _you_ from _them_ , but I buried my brother not half a year past and my mum still writes Fred’s name when she talks about George’s shop and I have to try and ignore the tear stains blurring the line she crosses it out with _every damned time_ and so I’m sorry things were tough for you but really, what the hell did you expect coming back here? Man up, take your lumps because you deserve them and it makes others feel like they’re doing something to right the wrongs done them.”

                After that it seemed to all go downhill, as if it wasn’t headed that way to begin with. Neville tried to soothe Draco’s guilt, anger, and hurt but Draco apparently wasn’t in the mood. He stood not long after, his bowl of stew uneaten, and stormed out. Ginny followed suit, her lunch equally as abandoned. If Hermione knew anything about her friend, it was that she had lashed out in a fit of Weasley temper and that she probably regretted half of what she said as soon as she closed her mouth long enough to think about what had come out of it. Hermione had eaten as a way of ignoring the awkwardness of the situation and come to terms with her own mixed feelings but it wasn’t sitting well in her stomach and she wanted desperately to just go to sleep and let the world slip away for a while.

                Unfortunately, she had private tuition with McGonagall and had to be on her way. Neville had wisely chosen to not bring the subject up again and just let his friends duck out one by one until he was alone at the Gryffindor table. At least, until Luna joined him, happily blathering on about fairies and whatnot as if there weren’t a care in the world.

                Hermione steeled herself for her sit-down with McGonagall and Flitwick, too tired to be excited over presenting her idea for her transfiguration project, which she had chosen to incorporate with her charms project. She pasted a sunny smile on her face, however, and got on with getting on, completely unaware that she was fooling no one.


	13. McGonagall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McGonagall uses her power for good and gets Hermione and Draco to talk to each other. Draco reveals something about his role during the war of which he is deeply ashamed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was hard for me to write. The delay in posting was because I was going a different direction and was unhappy so I completely rewrote the chapter. I'm still not 100% with it but I've reached the point of frustration and need to post and step away and move on to the next part of the story. Fair warning, there is talk of noncon/dubcon in this chapter though it is in no way detailed. Heavy angst warning.

Chapter 13: McGonagall

                Draco sat in his common room, staring into nothingness and trying to calm his mind. He was tired, tired of this place and the people here, tired of feeling less than, beneath contempt, even invisible. He needed to get back in Granger’s good graces, even if only to have someone else to commiserate with. Misery loves company, right?

                He practiced raising and lowering his occlumency shields to keep his mind occupied until it was time to go meet with the headmistress for his apprenticeship. It was a true apprenticeship, as much as it could be with him still having a full schedule of classes. He had assigned readings and practicums, of course, but he also assisted with marking papers, engaged in theoretical debates, and was slated to take over the first year classes by next term. He found it very satisfying, much more so than any of his other classes where he was ignored at best.

                He made sure to be early so that he could bump into Granger in the hall, hoping she might talk to him. It had looked like she was going to talk to him during that disastrous lunch but she had remained mute and he had given up and stormed out after the ginger menace had a go at him. What she said made sense and he understood where everyone was coming from. He was the face of the war, apparently, even more so for the students and staff of Hogwarts than Voldemort had been. But just because he understood it didn’t mean he had to like it or that he should have to put up with taunting and misery and physical assault because someone else needed to feel better about their lives.

                And yes, he knew he was being a total hypocrite having been the bully and the abuser prior to the war so that he could feel better about his own life. But he had meant it when he said he had more than paid his dues and reparations, and he didn’t mean in just money. Daily torture and being witness to death, mayhem, rape, and the torture of others, men, women, and even children, were more than enough to have him repenting his ways and begging for forgiveness from any deity that might be listening.

                People saw the faces of their dead loved ones when they looked at him. Well, he saw those faces, too. All of them. From both sides of the war. He saw Professor Burbage’s dead body being swallowed by that snake every time he ate in his dining room, regardless of the massive renovation he had done on the manor. He saw Lupin and Fred, who he had always found funny, and his cousin Nymphadora and Vince and Theo’s dad and that dumb bint Lavender Brown with her throat torn open and the list just kept going.

            He walked down the halls of this school and remembered catching Carrow with a first year girl shoved up against a wall, his hand under her robes. He had raised his wand just as Snape had appeared and rescued the girl under the guise of needing Carrow’s attention. That wasn’t the first time nor the last that Draco had stumbled upon Carrow or his sister torturing a student in one way or another. It _was_ the last time Carrow accosted a female student. In fact, after his meeting with Snape, he never even looked at any of the female students again.

           That should have been Draco’s first clue that Snape wasn’t all he claimed to be.

           Draco was knocked off memory lane by the door to the transfiguration classroom swinging open and nearly knocking him in the head. He opened his mouth to greet the curly haired witch he had grown so obsessed with in such a short amount of time but she walked right by him like he wasn’t even there.

 _Be honest, you’ve been obsessed with her for years. It just wasn’t for the same reason._ _And she won’t even give you the time of day because you’re such a damned prat, as usual. Good going, mate, you’ve fucked up again._

          Needless to say, his time with McGonagall was tense and awkward as he was preoccupied with thoughts of Granger and how his fucked up life was probably going to stay fucked up for the foreseeable future. If he thought the headmistress wasn’t going to notice, well, he was delusional to say the least.

         “Mr. Malfoy, kindly explain to me just what is going on today with yourself and your dorm mate,” the stern witch demanded after he had to ask her to repeat her instructions for a third time.

         “I’m not sure I know what you mean, Professor,” Draco drawled nonchalantly.

          “And I was born just this morning,” McGonagall answered sarcastically. “Now, child, if you please.”

         “I can’t speak for Her… _her,_ but I am just preoccupied thinking about something for my potions…lessons,” Draco responded in his haughtiest tone.

        “So the fact that she spent the night out of the castle and you stormed Ravenclaw tower looking for her has no bearing on how the both of you are acting _today?”_ she countered, clearly disbelieving.

        Draco really should’ve known that the headmistress would know everything that was going on in the school. Luckily he could speak from experience that even the head of Hogwarts wasn’t privy to what the students got up to in private. He was pretty sure that if she knew that _he_ knew what the muggle-born tasted like, what she looked like screaming his name in pleasure, what her quim felt like spasming around his cock, that she would’ve hexed him as soon as he had entered the room.

       “We had a bit of a row, is all. She leaves her books piled up everywhere and I shouldn’t have to put up with clutter in my living space,” Draco bluffed.

       “Not to be crude, Mr. Malfoy, but I call bullshit. You don’t have to tell me what you fought about. It doesn’t matter. You will work it out because she is good for you, and being friends with her is good for your reputation and good for the wizarding world.”

       Draco’s eyes shot to the old witch’s face, first because of her use of profanity and secondly because…

      “What are you on about?” he asked incredulously.

        McGonagall huffed out a breath as if preparing herself to explain advanced transfiguration to a complete dunderhead, straightened her robes to show she meant business and looked him straight in the eye. “They need to see that one of their saviors, this beacon of Muggle-born equality, their princess, so to speak, can forgive her personal tormentor, a confirmed Death Eater and blood purist. They need to see that even one as evil as they perceive you to be can be reformed, can be saved, can see the light, as it were. Your current living situation wasn’t just for your safety, Mr. Malfoy. I had hoped that you would make nice, even if just to prevent her from hexing you to hell and back.”

              Draco couldn’t fault her reasoning. It even made sense, from a Slytherin perspective, to ally himself with a muggle-born in such high standing with the wizarding community. It would boost his own reputation, put him back in good standing and bring some of the Malfoy connections back into the fold, even if only so they too could benefit from association with _the_ Hermione Granger, even if that association was merely by proxy. It wasn’t the goal the lofty Gryffindor had in mind, being a beacon of peace and tolerance, but when the shit inevitably hit the fan and his truce/friendship/whatever with Longbottom, Lovegood, and hopefully Granger reached his parents, he at least had an explanation they would understand and perhaps approve of. Whether or not it was his true motivation was irrelevant.

                He didn’t care about his father’s approbation so much as he didn’t want to deal with the fallout. He had enough to deal with without Lucius Malfoy throwing his wrath and disapproval around. He hoped his mother would be a bit more sympathetic…understanding…maybe.

                _Enough with that train of thought, Draco. If you keep staring off into space the old biddy is going to think you’ve lost the plot._

                “I see. I’ve apologized, believe it or not. Granger is…well, I have it on good authority that I just need to give her space and time and she’ll come around.”

                “And that is all well and good, Mr. Malfoy. Unfortunately, we have precious little of that. I’ve taken it into my own hands,” McGonagall announced smartly. “I am leaving it to you to make things right. I expect you to return for our next meeting with your head where it belongs.”

                Effectively dismissed, Draco cleaned up his work area and returned to his dorm, curious as to what she had meant by taking it into her own hands. His curiosity was quickly sated upon entering the dorm and seeing all of Granger’s belongings back in place as if she had never left. The witch herself was seated on the couch, looking resigned.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                Hermione heard Draco enter the room. She contemplated running for the door but knew it would prove fruitless. After all, the headmistress controlled the castle and if she wanted Hermione to stay put, the castle would naturally oblige.

                “I tried to go back to Hagrid’s. I made it to the courtyard and suddenly I was here. All my things were here. I assumed the headmistress had something to do with it. So I tried to go and talk to her. It appears she is unhappy with our separation.”

                “She said as much,” Draco responded, throwing off his robe and sinking down onto the couch next to her. “I take it we can’t leave.”

                “It would appear not,” Hermione answered. “I am unsure if there is a time limit or…”

                “Oh, I’m fairly certain of what the old cat wants,” Draco assured. “She said, and this is a direct quote, mind you, that being friends with you is ‘good for my reputation and good for the wizarding world’, since they all need to see their favorite muggle-born forgive an evil death eater like me and prove that even the worst of us can be reformed.”

                 Hermione nodded slowly. She had come to a similar conclusion as to the reason for her incarceration while she had sat there for nigh on two hours. The only reason to magically divert her back to her room was because she had left them in the first place with no intention of returning and McGonagall obviously wanted her to return. The only reason she would go to such measures to keep her in this particular room was that there was something there that wouldn’t be found anywhere else, namely, Draco Malfoy. And the only reason she would want Hermione to be stuck in a room with Draco Malfoy would be to make peace. From there it wasn’t difficult to come up with a list of possible reasons she would want the two to come to a truce. Really, it was child’s play figuring it out.

              “Fine,” Hermione responded. “We’re friends. We’ll sit together during meals, study together in the library, and I’ll even sit with Slytherin at their first Quidditch match.”

             “Well, don’t expect me to sit with Gryffindor, though I might be persuaded to cheer for them at one of their games. Against Hufflepuff. Maybe,” Draco teased.

            “Great, that’s settled then,” Hermione said as she stood and made her way to the door, not at all surprised when it refused to open.

            “You didn’t mean it,” Draco finally concluded, voice the epitome of dejection.

           “They always said you were clever,” Hermione retorted. “Look, I’m tired and confused and I’m going to go take a long shower and crawl into bed and deal with…all of this…later.”

             “Ok, Hermione…um…Granger. We’ll talk later, then,” Draco relented. “But, before you go…I…it’s just…what I mean to say is…I’m an ass and a prat and a total wanker and I am truly sorry. I didn’t mean what I said and I really shouldn’t have done what I did and I tried to get back to take it all down before you ever saw it but my timing is as bad as my luck apparently and I know you aren’t ready to forgive me and I truly don’t deserve it but I wanted you to know that.”

             Hermione nodded once, a simple dip of her head in acknowledgment, and retreated to her room, grabbing her bath kit and lounge clothes and walking to the bathroom, steadfastly refusing to meet the eyes of the contrite wizard sitting dejectedly on the couch. She showered mindlessly; shampoo, condition, condition again because… _duh_ , scrub face and body and out. She took her time drying off with a fluffy towel and moisturizing her arms and legs, letting the soothing strokes of her hands relax her, before pulling on her soft lounge pants and another oversized t-shirt purloined from one of the boys. Fluffy socks and a messy bun completed the look.

              She was determined to make it back to her room without interacting with _him_ but as soon as she opened the door she smelled food and her stomach chose that moment to remind her that she had needs that couldn’t really be ignored. Spread out on the coffee table were plates of roast beef and potatoes, green beans, buttered corn, rolls, and even an apple pie, still steaming and sending wafts of cinnamon into the air.

              “It just showed up on the table. D’you reckon we’ll be able to leave for classes tomorrow? I really want you to forgive me and I want to be friends…maybe one day more than friends…but if it means I don’t have to go back out _there_ , hell, I’m half tempted to piss you off even more.”

             Hermione took in the blonde’s smirk and the teasing twinkle in his gunsmoke eyes. Much better than the anger and despair of earlier. She must have stood staring at him a tad too long because the twinkle and the smirk disappeared and his shoulders slumped in defeat. She took pity on him, sitting on the floor on the opposite side of the coffee table and filling a plate.

            “If you piss me off more, what’s waiting for you out there will seem like a walk in the park compared to what I might do to you locked in here, with no escape,” she mock threatened.

            Draco must not have known whether to take her seriously or laugh because he sort of snorted, like he started laughing and then thought better of it. Unfortunately, he had just taken a large mouthful of pumpkin juice and his aborted laugh sent most of it dribbling down his chin quite unattractively. Hermione couldn’t help the smile that tilted the corner of her lips.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                _She’s smiling,_ Draco thought. _This might not be as hard as I thought. Pitiful. Be pitiful. And for Merlin’s sake don’t stare at her tits in that shirt._

                “You forget; I lived with Vodlemort for over a year. I guarantee you there is nothing you can do worse than what I…what he…” Draco trailed off meaningfully.

                “I didn’t forget. How could I?” she asked, head bent towards her plate.

                “I know. I never meant…I never thought…I’m glad you escaped. And I’m glad Potter killed that old snake. And that Longbottom killed the actual snake. And I wish…well, I guess it doesn’t really matter what I wish.”

                Draco watched the silent witch as she popped a green bean into her mouth, chewing slowly as she seemed to contemplate something. He guessed she hadn’t reached a satisfactory conclusion yet because she darted her honey brown eyes to his only to let them fall away once more as she took a delicate bite of roast beef. He had just taken a forkful of potato when she spoke.

                “What was it like, then?” she asked, still avoiding his gaze.

                “What was what like?” he volleyed, though he knew what she was asking. He wasn’t sure he wanted to go down that conversational black hole. He took another bite to delay the inevitable.

                “Living with Voldemort,” was her oh-so-casual response, as if she hadn’t just asked him to describe the worst year of his life.

                Draco used the excuse of chewing his roast beef _very_ thoroughly to think of an appropriate response. He didn’t want to talk about it. He really didn’t. He didn’t want her to hear of the horrible things he had done, or had been done to him, or that he had witnessed and done nothing to stop, things that were even worse than watching his aunt torture her.

                He opened his mouth to tell her of when Professor Burbage had died, something awful but not really involving him in any participatory capacity, when he felt a pull in the back of his skull. Before he could shove more food in his mouth he heard himself tell her the last thing he had wanted to come out of his mouth.

                “He liked to make examples of people. Didn’t address him as ‘Lord’, it’s a _crucio_ for you. Didn’t finish a task he set you, or worse, failed, its a few days in the dungeons and a few rounds with Bellatrix and her husband for you. After a _crucio_ , of course. Disagree with him? Instant _avada_ unless he thought you were too useful and then he would torture your family instead. And he knew exactly what each person would consider torture.

“For some, it’s seeing their wives or children hurt. For others, it’s all about the reputation. That’s where I came in. You know I insinuated you were some kind of slag or whore and I knew better…know better, because if anybody here is a whore, it’s me. He used me as a whore, seducing others to our side usually but I’d also be sent in as a punishment for those who wouldn’t comply. Don’t want to join an evil overlord who is bent on destroying pretty much everybody…well, he’ll make sure your pure, virginal daughter can make no claim to such in the future. And if the girl proved too difficult for _the whore_ to seduce well, he had a solution for that too. He’ll pour dark lust potions down her throat and watch her beg for it from anybody and everybody in the room, in any room, even her own father, brothers, uncles, and then he’ll send her to _the whore_ to relieve her suffering.”

Draco quickly brought his cup to his lips, hoping to stopper the flow of information that he had been magically compelled to share. He should have realized that McGonagall wasn’t going to leave anything to chance. She wanted them to talk and make peace and she would have taken into account the possibility of Granger being incredibly stubborn and refusing to speak to him. Unfortunately, realizing he was under a compulsion and being able to fight against it were two different things. As soon as he was finished swallowing, the deluge began again, Hermione staring at him wide-eyed and tight-lipped, having come to the conclusion that if she opened her mouth to speak, she might also be compelled to say something she didn’t want to.

“I like sex well enough and usually sought it out on my own, as a ready-made excuse to get out of participating in a revel or going on a raid. Father made up the excuse that I was recruiting. Voldemort latched onto that but after awhile decided to use me more in that capacity. The girls were willing enough, usually, and didn’t even know that they were being ‘ruined’ as a punishment for their fathers. Most of them weren’t even pure and virginal to begin with. For those who weren’t too keen, well, they were after the potion took hold, and they were thankful, at the end, for what I gave them, for helping them find relief. But they wouldn’t have done it without that potion, I’m sure, or maybe they would have, if they got more of a chance to know me. I don’t know if they would have, though, so that makes me a rapist, whatever else I am.”

Draco was screaming inside his head, begging his mouth to shut. The. Fuck. Up. Hermione’s eyes were getting wider with each word that spewed out of his gaping maw and he was sure that after this she would never look at him the same way again. Never even look at him again, more like. He shifted his gaze to the ceiling, not wanting to see the condemnation in her gaze.

“I wouldn’t have done it if there was another way. I mean, I guess I could have just killed them, or I could have refused. But that would make me a murderer or still complicit in rape because he would have just sent someone else and then he would have tortured me or my mum. Or he would use someone else to teach _me_ a lesson. So in the end it was a matter of a girl having sex that was kind of consensual, but more not, or a girl being gang raped and someone else being tortured, most likely me. I chose the lesser of the two evils. Or maybe I just saved my own skin. Probably that one.”

Draco had been trying desperately to throw up his shields, hoping they would override the compulsion that had clearly been laced into the food. He kept trying to command his hands to grab something, anything, and shove it in his mouth but it seemed the compulsion would only allow him to eat and talk.

“That’s what it was like. It was hell. It was daily torture, physical, mental, and emotional torture. It was death and pain. It gave bad people righteous justification for doing all the batshit crazy stuff they wanted to do anyway and it turned…good _ish_ people into bad people. Turned me, whatever I was, into a bad person.”

Finally, it seemed that the charm or potion or whatever it was had worn off or the requirements had been met enough for it to loosen its hold. Draco slumped back in the couch and rubbed at his suspiciously burning eyes. He was afraid to look at the witch still seated across from him. He wondered why Hermione hadn’t gotten up to leave yet and was beginning to think she was under a compulsion as well, perhaps to sit and listen.

He couldn’t stand the idea that she was sitting there, unable to leave and get away from him, sure that she would want to get as far from him as possible, preferably behind a closed, locked, and warded door. He stood abruptly and turned towards his room, intent on removing his revolting presence from her line of sight, and hoped that if she was under a compulsion, it would lift now that he was no longer in over-sharing mode.

“I thought she was going to give me to Greyback,” Hermione said, voice shaky. “ _He_ would have given me to Greyback, probably.”

Draco stopped in his tracks but still couldn’t look at her.

“He would have torn out my throat, after, or maybe during. He would have hurt me. A lot. I was still a virgin then, you know. He wanted to hurt me and he would have killed me. What you did, it wasn’t good and it isn’t ok but it _was_ the best choice for everyone. You didn’t drug them and they would have, at the least, still been raped and, at the worst, been hurt quite a bit more if you hadn’t made the choice you made. So while I don’t condone it, I understand it and if I had been given a choice, I would have chosen you over the other option.”

Draco shook his head, not quite believing what he was hearing. Oh, he had no doubts that she would have been given to the wolf eventually. He couldn’t believe that she was kind of absolving him of his sins. How could she offer absolution for _rape_ but refuse to forgive him his cruel words and basic stupidity? Or maybe she was offering him forgiveness, in a way. He was too emotionally distraught to be a good Slytherin though and didn’t want to read between the lines. He stepped up to his bedroom door but didn’t enter.

“I’m sorry. For all of it. All that I did for _him_ and all that I did _to_ you. For bullying you and for Bella and for the pictures and the accusations. I’m so very sorry, Hermione. I’m the whore, not you, it was just easier to think of you using me than to think you actually chose me because why would anybody choose me? I asked for your forgiveness but I know I don’t really deserve it.”

And before she could reply, either to confirm or deny, he stepped into his room and shut the door.


	14. Reconnect

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco once helped Hermione out during a nightmare. Hermione returns the favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck at this. I really do. I say to myself, you can totally get that chapter done by (fill in the blank) and then I binge watch back episodes of a show I never had time to watch during the school year and leave it to the last minute and then I can't think of exactly what I want to write and stare at my screen until 11:42pm before I finally give up, go to sleep, and then wake up with words pouring out of my fingers like lava. 
> 
> What I mean to say is that it hasn't been edited, I literally just finished typing it and am posting it here for you to eviscerate if you see fit. I hope you like it. I know they are moving fast and some people might be unhappy about that. There is a plot... I promise, and the rollercoaster these two are on does actually have a narrative and a point and I will get there...eventually.
> 
> Thanks to those who are hanging in there and reading and reviewing/commenting and leaving kudos and I'm going to stop promising chapters will be posted by such and such because with my life, I can't actually make that guarantee and I just keep breaking that promise. I'm sorry and I will try to do better.

Chapter 14: Reconnect

                Hermione remained seated at the low table, shocked and appalled and worried. She was so very conflicted about everything. What he had done…but what choice did he have, really? What choice would Harry or Ron have made? Harry cared so much for everyone but himself that Hermione knew, she just _knew_ that he would have sacrificed his own morals and his own emotional and physical well-being and done exactly what Draco had done if it meant saving an innocent from brutal rape or torture. Ron was loyal, if a bit hot-tempered, and would have done it to protect his family and friends, like Draco had done when his mother was under threat.

                But then there was what he said about probably only doing it to save his own skin. This was Draco Malfoy, bully and coward extraordinaire and if she were truly honest with herself, self-preservation was most likely to have been the foremost motivation for his actions. Could she really forgive him if he thought first of himself, even if he did eventually consider the well-being of his mother and the girls involved? On the other hand, when he had spoken of it, he had seemed to only tack on thoughts of his own well-being at the end, like an afterthought or something he didn’t really think about except in the recesses of his mind and only the compulsion charm had brought it out.

                Yes, he had been her major tormentor and had said cruel things up to and including that he was looking forward to her death, but when it came to his actions during the war, there was quite a different picture painted. He had lowered his wand, refusing to be a murderer even at the threat of his own life. He had not identified them at his home over Easter even though he knew, he _knew_ who they were and it would have put his family back in good standing. He had not fought in the final battle but had instead went looking for his friends, dragging them away from the fight. She had determined that he was in the ROR because he was looking to escape through the vanishing cabinet and had just happened to run into them there. He had refused to kill them then, too.

                So he wasn’t capable of killing. He clearly thought himself capable of rape, however. The compulsion charm would have forced him to tell the truth however he saw it. Only _veritaserum_ would force the unvarnished truth from your mouth. His compulsion was to tell his secrets which meant the words would come out exactly how he thought them in his mind. Hermione was under the same compulsion after all, but had managed to scrape by only sharing that she would have chosen him because he had not actually asked her any questions which she would feel compelled to answer. Lucky her.

                Either way, it all added up to confused and conflicted. Deeming it safe to eat since Draco was not present to instigate more conversation, Hermione dug into her food to distract her from her thoughts, vanishing it all when she had eaten her fill, correctly assuming that he wasn’t going to be coming out to eat any more that evening. Stomach full and emotionally and physically exhausted, Hermione dragged herself to her room, collapsing on her bed and falling easily into a not-so-easy sleep.

                At first, she wasn’t sure if she was even awake or if she was in her dream. She could hear screaming but it seemed to come from further away than usual, as if, for once, the abject terror was not her own. The scream died down and the pleading began and Hermione’s brain finally caught up to her body.

                “Please, I’ll fix it. I promise I’ll fix it. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry. I’ll fix it,” Draco’s voice drifted through the wall. “I’m sorry. I don’t want to. I’m sorry. It’ll be over soon. I promise.”

                Hermione was not put in Gryffindor for nothing. She was logical and rational to be sure, but she was also brave and liked to face problems head on. Draco was in the midst of a nightmare and though Hermione was quite capable of casting a silencing charm, she knew that wasn’t the right thing to do. She slipped out of her room, made quick work of his password and wards and tiptoed to his bedside.

                “Draco,” she whispered. “Draco, wake up.”

                The blonde continued to thrash his head side to side, moaning and pleading for forgiveness. Hermione reached her hand out tentatively and shook his shoulder. When she still didn’t wake she did what she had to. She pulled her wand and cast a _renervate_ , hopping backwards a step when Draco sprang upright, practically screaming, “I’m sorry.”

                “You were having a nightmare,” Hermione explained when his gray eyes focused on her face. “I thought it best to wake you.”

                “How did you get in here?” he asked when his breathing returned to almost normal.

                “Hello, my name is Hermione Granger and I am a complete swot. Perhaps you’ve heard of me?” Hermione joked, trying to lighten the tension in the room.

                “No, really. How did you get in here?” Draco insisted.

                “I tried your favorite class, a variety of different sweets I’ve seen you eat, and your mother’s name. When those didn’t work I moved on to quidditch. It only took a few words and I had your password. The wards were much easier. You should really study up on those a bit more.”

                “Why did you come?” Draco repeated, apparently choosing to ignore her comment.

                “I told you; you were having a nightmare,” Hermione answered.

                “Don’t play coy; it doesn’t suit you. Why did you come in here, Hermione?” Draco said, voice barely above a whisper as he flopped back onto his pillow. Pillows. He really did have a very sumptuous bed. “You could have just silenced the wall. I did. The first time.”

                “I know. I guess I just didn’t want you to continue suffering. I know what it’s like, as you know.” Hermione watched Draco as he ran his hands down his face and back up into his hair.

                “You should let me suffer. I deserve it, right?”

                “No. No, Draco, nobody deserves that kind of suffering. What he did to you, made you do, isn’t something I would wish on anyone. Even a prat like you.” Hermione hoped that he understood what she was saying, trying to say. When he simply snorted in disbelief she took a step closer to the bed, and then another, until she could sit on the edge and grab his hand, his eyes shooting to hers. “You are not a bad person and what happened to you was awful. It doesn’t excuse how you treated me and I’m still cross with you for that but for what it’s worth, I don’t hold your actions against you from the war.”

                Draco turned his head to the side, as if trying to hide his face and took in a shaky breath. “I am sorry about that.”

                “So you’ve said,” Hermione replied.

                “I befriended Longbottom and Lovegood, mostly to be around you but as far as friends go, they aren’t too bad,” Draco offered, still not looking directly at Hermione though he left his hand in hers. “Red hates me so I probably won’t be befriending her any time soon, just so you weren’t entertaining any ideas.”

                “Well, I’m willing to try being your friend, for what it’s worth,” Hermione offered. “But I swear to God if you ever pull a stunt like that again…”

                “I won’t,” Draco interjected, finally turning to look at Hermione, sitting up and effectively bringing his body very close to hers. “I swear to you, I won’t ever do anything like that again. It was immature and unacceptable and hurtful and I was being a jealous idiot and…”

                Hermione placed her hand over Draco’s mouth, cutting off his words quite effectively as the wizard instantly grew still. “I believe you. You don’t have anything to be jealous of, Draco. Neville is a friend and stupidly in love with Hannah Abbott.”

                “Yeah, I know that now…”

                Hermione stopped him again. “And we aren’t together so you don’t really have the right to be jealous.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                Draco felt a bit like he’d been slapped. And he’d been slapped by this particular witch before so counted himself a bit of an expert on the feeling. He grabbed her hand away from his mouth.

                “It sure felt like we were together when I had my tongue between your thighs, Hermione,” he responded. He saw her swallow and watched her eyes dart away. “Or when I was pounding you into the mattress from behind. And it especially felt like we were together when you were spread out on top of me, riding my cock.”

                “That’s sex,” Hermione said. “That’s chemistry and pheromones and…”

                “Bullshit. That’s bullshit,” Draco growled, grabbing Hermione’s chin and forcing her to meet his eyes. “We have a connection. We’ve always had a connection and you can’t deny that.”

                “You called me ‘mudblood’ and threatened me!” Hermione exclaimed, pulling her face out of Draco’s grip.

                “And you shagged me anyway! I’ve always been a complete ass to you but even when I was holding you helpless and threatening you, you hugged me and offered to let me sit in your compartment. And even though I’m supposed to hate you, all I’ve thought about since then was you. We have a connection whether you want to admit it or not. If we didn’t you would never have let me fuck you, pheromones or no.”

                Draco proved his point by burying his hands in the witch’s bushy hair and claiming her mouth, smirking internally when she almost immediately gave in, tangling her tongue with his and moaning. The angle was awkward with her sitting perpendicular to him so he released her hair to grab her waist and drag her body over his, her knees on either side of his hips and her bum perched on his thighs. She tasted delicious, as usual, and Draco couldn’t resist pulling her closer and settling her warm core directly above his very hard cock.

                Delicate hands carded through his hair and her hips ground down against the ridge of his prick. He was the one to moan this time, thrusting helplessly up against her hot center and using his hands on her perfect ass to keep up a steady rhythm of thrust and grind, only moving his hands enough to slip below her waistband to grab each bare globe in his palms. When he came up for air he released her lips to latch onto her neck instead, somehow growing harder when she whimpered and started panting, her hips speeding up.

                “You’re angry with me and yet as soon as I touch you, you melt. You can’t resist me either. Fuck, I need you naked,” he groaned against her jaw as he dragged his mouth back to hers.

                Hermione apparently agreed with that sentiment because she released her death grip on his hair and tugged up the hem of her tee. Draco wasn’t about to waste the opportunity presented so he released her plump cheeks and helped her tug her shirt over her head, immediately dropping his mouth to her tit and his hands to her bottoms, leaning forward and pushing her body back to the bed so that he could cover her body with his own and rip her pants down her legs. They got caught around her knees and he abandoned the cause so he could run his fingers up her slick slit, circling her clit and earning a gasp from the witch beneath him.

                “I’ve had a lot of sex and this isn’t that,” Draco muttered around Hermione’s puckered nipple. “Sex is forgettable. You finish and move on and anybody can fill that space the next time you’re feeling empty. But I can’t get enough of you. I can’t get you out of my head. Tell me you feel it too.”

                Hermione’s answer was another whimper and a deep groan as he sank two fingers into her tight heat. He claimed her mouth once more as he curved his fingers and rubbed against her spongy front wall. He swallowed her moans, nipping at her lips and licking at the roof of her mouth, his fingers unceasing in their assault on her sensitive spot and his thumb dropping to her clit.

                “I know you feel it, the connection. Tell me. Tell me,” Draco insisted, needing to hear the words from her mouth.

                Instead, she came with a scream around his fingers, shuddering and shaking and soaking his palm. Draco rode her through it, gradually slowing his fingers until her spasms stopped, lips still tugging at her nipple.

                “It’s not just sex. Tell me. Say it,” Draco nearly whined.

                “I feel it, too” the witch finally answered.

                “Thank Merlin,” Draco groaned. “You’re not just a convenient fuck, Hermione. Not to me. We don’t have to go any further than this. We can just lie here together. Will you stay with me tonight? Sleep here? I sleep better with you.”

                “Draco, it isn’t just sex, but if you don’t get inside me within the next 10 seconds I will hex you,” she growled. “And yes, I’ll stay. I sleep better with you, too.”

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                Hermione couldn’t explain it. She would swear they had been bewitched. He had treated her horribly for years and what he had done with the magazines was offensive and hurtful and she shouldn’t want to be near him. His past was gruesome and though she didn’t hold it against him she thought it would have at least caused her some moment of hesitation when faced with his ardor. But as soon as his lips had touched hers it was like fireworks in her head. She lost all sense. Her whole world narrowed down to each individual point of contact between his skin and hers.

                She didn’t feel the bed under her thighs or the brush of her tee as it slipped down her shoulder. She didn’t feel her hair, which had come loose from its braid while she had slept, as usual, tickling the back of her neck. She didn’t feel the soft warmth of her fluffy socks on her feet. But his fingers against her scalp sent electric shocks down each individual strand of hair, sparks jumping from the curled ends to whatever bit of flesh they rested against and racing down her nerve endings so her whole body felt electrified. His lips on hers were the new center of her universe, burning like a thousand suns, bathing her in warmth and life-giving energy. She drank of his tongue, an enchanted oasis in the middle of an endless desert where each sip just made her thirstier, made her crave more and more.

                When clothes were removed and the weight of him settled atop her it was as if the whole world had ceased moving, time itself stopping and centering on that excruciating eternity between her back hitting the bed and his chest settling atop hers. And then time sped up, like a video on fast forward, his tongue and teeth and hands moving everywhere all at once, the movie switching once more into slow motion only when he filled her with his fingers. He was relentless in his pursuit of her pleasure and she crested the wave and released all of her pent up energy, that electricity he had imbued her with, in a loud scream.

                She couldn’t deny she felt the connection after that. There was something there other than chemistry and pheromones. Hermione prided herself on her honesty and so gave him the words he was seeking for they were the truth. She felt the connection and she wanted to feel it again, wanted him to fill her with that energy, to speed up time, slow it down, or grind it to a halt. She wanted him naked and wasted no time in getting him there, summoning her wand from the floor where it had fallen and casting a _divesto_ to speed up the process.

                And then he was inside her, stretching her around his cock and those electric shocks coalesced there, the true center of the universe, where life really begin, and his hands were locked in hers, fingers entwined, and his lips were locked on hers, tongues dueling for dominance, and his eyes were locked on hers, neither wanting to look away, to lose the connection. She wrapped her legs around his slim hips, crossing her ankles at the base of his spine and using the position to lift herself into his thrusts.

                They fit perfectly together, as if made for one another, two halves of the same coin. If she was able to think about anything other than the feeling of his cock sliding in and out of her, dragging along her walls, bumping her cervix as he bottomed out, she would have realized they were in most ways exactly opposite and yet in some ways exactly the same. She was plain and brown from her wild curly hair to her muddy eyes to her tan and freckled skin. She was the girl next door, down to earth and practical, happy to sit at home and read by the fire. He was beautiful, elegant and refined, light of hair and eye and skin, snobbish and high-maintenance and materialistic, athletic and happiest surrounded by people to fawn all over him. She was a sparrow to his swan.

                But for all of their differences, they were both ambitious, loyal in their own way, cunning, intelligent, and somewhat intolerant with the faults of others, though Hermione didn’t really like to admit that. He was second in marks only to her and she was able to ignore her morals in protection of her friends almost as easily as he could. Yes, they were very much alike, like yin and yang, with his most dominant traits being a small piece of her and her most dominant traits being a small piece of him.

                She would have found it quite interesting and probably would have spent a considerable amount of time contemplating, discussing, and postulating. But she was much too busy thinking about how good it felt when he finally released her hands so he could prop himself up, changing the angle so that he hit her g-spot with every…single…thrust, and dropping a hand between them to play her clit like a violin. With her hands free she was able to grab her breasts, pinching and pulling and rolling her nipples, each tug sending more sparks down to where they were joined. If she could hear herself she would probably be embarrassed by the sounds coming from her mouth and the truly filthy sloshing coming from her drenched core as he pounded into her. As it was, though, she was deaf and blind to everything but the moans coming from her lover’s mouth and the look in his molten silver eyes as he got closer and closer to release.

                She saw his pupils blow impossibly wider and his eyes lose focus completely as his hips lost their rhythm and he came deep inside her, her own climax sucking him deeper into her wet passage and holding him there. He kept up the movements of his hips, grinding against her oversensitive clit, until the last aftershock raced down her limbs. Slowly the world came back into focus and Hermione returned to herself, noticing the sweat rapidly cooling on her heated skin, the itchiness between her breasts where his stubble and her nails had left behind various friction burns and abrasions, the soreness on the inside of her thighs from his jutting hipbones.

                When he collapsed to the side, too spent to hold himself up any longer, she gasped at the sensation of his cock slipping free of her swollen folds, their combined juices following and sliding down the curve of her bum to pool on the bedspread beneath her. His panting breath was hot against her neck as he breathed with his head turned towards her and while it wasn’t exactly uncomfortable, it wasn’t exactly pleasant either. She could feel the heat radiating from his body and she was sure he could feel hers as well.

                “A cool shower would be-“

                “Definitely need a cooling charm-“

                Hermione huffed out a laugh. Opposites indeed. She thought like a muggle and he thought like a wizard. “Cleaning charm, then cooling charm,” she compromised, too languid from pleasure to care when he grabbed her wand to perform the necessary charms to make them comfortable.

                It was thinking about necessary charms that made Hermione sit up straight and groan, snatching her wand from Draco’s hand and casting a quick charm on her belly, sighing in relief when it turned red.

                “Did you just cast a pregnancy detection charm?” Draco asked, brain apparently still fuzzy.

                “Well, we haven’t exactly been practicing safe sex and I just thought of it and God, how could I have been so stupid?” Hermione replied, swishing her wand to cast a contraceptive spell good for 24 hours before and after intercourse.

                “Hermione, calm down. You don’t need that,” Draco assured her from his position still sprawled near the foot of the bed.

                “I most certainly do,” Hermione argued, “as I have no intention of falling pregnant any time soon, connection or not! How could you think…”

                This time it was Hermione who found herself with a hand over her lips. “I would never get you up the duff without there being a very long discussion and agreement beforehand. And preferably a marriage contract since I am a fairly traditional kind of bloke, believe it or not. Not that I’m asking you to marry me or anything. I was simply telling you that you didn’t need it because I take a potion every month to ensure sterility. Seemed wise, what with Voldemort throwing witches at me. My father would have killed me if I knocked any of those girls up and I didn’t want any children of mine to be the product of…that.”

                “Oh. Well, please don’t take offense when I say I’m still going to use the charm. A witch should never leave it solely up to the man to take care of contraceptive, even if she trusts him,” Hermione proclaimed. Thinking for a moment she added, “Or is married to him, come to think of it, not that I’m asking _you_ to marry me or anything.”

                “I can’t argue with that. Do what makes you most comfortable, Hermione; I won’t be offended. It’s your body, your choice, always,” Draco said earnestly, finally sitting up and repositioning himself at the head of the bed on the side closest to the door. “Now that we’ve established neither of us is thinking of marrying the other and we definitely aren’t ready for kids, which is a pretty heavy conversation when we haven’t even had our first date yet, can we please go back to sleep?”

                Hermione crawled in beside him, tucking her head against his chest and tangling her left leg around his. “We had dinner, conversation, albeit a bit dark, and then came back to your place for a shag. I would definitely count this as a date,” she muttered into his neck before placing a soft kiss there and letting her heavy eyelids fall shut.


	15. Should We or Shouldn't We

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Draco and Hermione have another little misunderstanding. They finally talk about how open they're going to be in this new relationship. Should they go public or shouldn't they?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I suck and I am so sorry this has taken a million years to update. I hurt myself and was bedridden in the worst position for a little while and then I started my masters and just have not had any time to write. Thank you for your patience and I am hoping now that things have calmed a bit that I can write more often and update more quickly.

Chapter 15: Should We or Shouldn’t We

                Hermione’s wand sounded an alarm, signaling it was time to get up for another day of boring, useless classes and dodging adoring looks from firsties. Groaning and flicking her hand to silence the truly obnoxious sound, Hermione attempted to roll out of bed, coming up against a very solid and very warm obstruction.

                “Draco, wake up,” Hermione mumbled, rubbing the center of his chest haphazardly. “C’mon, it’s time for breakfast.”

                Draco groaned loudly in protest, pulling the pillow from under his head and covering his face with it. Hermione giggled before grabbing the pillow, playfully smacking him in the chest with it, and throwing it to the foot of the bed. Draco groaned even more loudly, if at all possible, and threw both arms over his eyes, thoroughly refusing to give in to the call of day and wake up. Shaking her head, Hermione sat up, stretching and yawning, unconcerned with the sheet slipping to pool at her hips and exposing her bare chest to the open air.

Gathering her hair and twisting it atop her head, Hermione looked about for her wand to stick through the impossible mass, eyes landing on Draco’s sitting on the bedside table. Deciding a sticking charm would work just as well, Hermione leaned over Draco and reached for his wand, squeaking in an undignified manner when strong arms suddenly wrapped around her and pulled her atop a very much awake Malfoy.

“G’morning,” he rumbled against her neck, his stubble scratching…irritatingly, if she were being honest, and his morning erection poking into her belly.

“Breakfast, Draco,” she responded, pushing against his chest and attempting to sit up.

“M’not hungry,” he said as he rolled his hips.

“I am. And in need of a shower. And we have classes,” Hermione reasoned. Or tried to reason. Draco wasn’t being very reasonable. Must be because all of his blood was redirected from his brain to his dick.

“Let me,” Draco begged. Except it didn’t sound so much like begging as it did cajoling. Perhaps even demanding if it weren’t for the sleepy way he said it.

“Draco, we have classes,” Hermione repeated, though she couldn’t explain why. It wasn’t like class had anything to offer her, outside of her transfiguration/charms project. She could very happily stay in bed all day.

His hands dropped to her bum, squeezing once before drifting down to wrap tight around her thighs and spreading them to cradle his hips. Holding her tightly to his body, he started to grind against her rapidly slickening center, moaning as her arousal coated his cock.

“Let me,” he panted as his hips sped up, the head of his engorged member bumping her clit.

Hermione couldn’t stop the whimper that fell from her lips or the way she started to grind back down against him, enjoying the feel of his rigid length as it dragged through her folds. Draco pulled her harder against him, her lower lips spreading and wrapping around his cock, and increased the speed of his hips again. They were naked and had already had sex in various positions but this frottage was somehow just as good, maybe because it was Draco bucking against her like a randy schoolboy. Whatever it was, it was working, especially when he started to add in a rotation every few thrusts.

Hermione gave in completely, moaning “yes, yes, yes” against Draco’s chest when her head became too heavy to hold up anymore. Draco wasted no time, releasing her so he could slip his hand between them and position himself just right so that the next time he ground up against her he entered her scalding hot, tight as a glove pussy. They both groaned as her walls clamped down around him and then Draco got down to the serious business of pleasing Hermione.

He wrapped one arm around her lower back, keeping her body immobile so that all she could do was lie atop him and take him, take what he was giving to her. His other hand grabbed her by the hair and forced her head to the side so he could latch his mouth onto her neck, sucking and biting and marking her. Each hard thrust sent the tips of her breasts scraping against his chest. Hermione could do little besides moan and writhe as much as she could in his vice-like grip, her pleasure building quickly, like a freight train, unstoppable and all-powerful.

“Come, Hermione,” Draco grunted. “Come on my cock. I want to feel it; I want to feel you.”

All Hermione could do was gasp for air, her lungs desperate for oxygen, unable to expand fully crushed so tightly to her lover’s chest. Draco sped up impossibly faster, yanking her head back and forcing her eyes to meet his. His face was contorted, almost as if he was in pain, teeth gritted and eyes narrowed.

“Damn it, Hermione, come!” he growled. “I need it…need you…please…please…come for me.”

Hermione was so close, teetering on the edge, wanting to give him what he so desperately wanted, needed, needing it herself. She was grunting with each thrust, incapable of speech, incapable of doing anything but feeling the ridges of his cock as he dragged against her walls, the bump of his sensitive head against her equally sensitive spots, the tugging of her clit against the coarse curls at the base of his prick and the taut muscles beneath.

“Fucking come, luv,” Draco moaned, once again at her throat. “You feel so good around my cock, kitten. Hot and tight and so damned wet. We fit perfectly together, move perfectly together. Now, please, for the love of Merlin, let me feel you fall apart. Let me. Let me. Let me.”

Hermione fell, screaming since it was the only way to release her pent up pleasure held immobile as she was. The pleasure at her core was so intense, the spasms hard and following so close together that Hermione couldn’t tell when one ended and the next began. Draco rode her through it, his pace still relentless as he chased his own peak, toppling over with a loud groan about half a dozen thrusts later.

The aftermath was wet, to say the least. His saliva was cooling on her neck, sweat was making her feel sticky, and his seed was slipping down both of their lower bodies as he softened and slipped free of her. Hermione sat up as soon as she regained her breath and grimaced at the thick liquid pooling beneath her.

“Shower, food, class,” she stated simply.

Gray eyes still a little unfocused met hers. “How many times do you think we’ll have to shag before you loosen up? Why can’t we take advantage of McGonagall’s meddling for one more day?”

“Because there is no way she didn’t know the second we made up and released the enchantment,” Hermione answered in her swottiest tone.

“Is it weird that your absolute swottiness makes me want to bend you over my knee and spank you?” Draco mused, smacking lightly at her bum to get his point across.

“Depends,” Hermione answered after a moment of thought, only somewhat still distracted by the wetness still surrounding her person.

Draco grinned when she didn’t immediately shoot down the idea. Without conscious thought his hands starting caressing and squeezing her plump arsecheeks. “On what?” he asked.

“On if it’s weird that your absolute prattiness makes me want to bend you over _my_ knee and spank _you._ Or that your perfect cheekbones make me want to smack you, frequently, just to see if it hurts you or me more. Or that I sometimes daydream about punching you in that pretty mouth of yours.”

Draco smacked her smartly on her left cheek, leaving a definite sting behind, and chuckled at her squeak. “Hush, you.”

“Can I take a shower now?” Hermione asked, tone telling Draco that it didn’t matter what his answer was, she was going to take a shower.

“I have fond memories of you in that shower,” Draco responded wistfully. “A shower is an excellent idea!”

“Great! And then we can grab some breakfast and…” Hermione trailed off suggestively as she ran her hands up and down Draco’s chest.

“And?” Draco prompted, fingers once again exploring the planes of her bottom.

“And…”Hermione leaned forward, bring her lips close to his and licking the bottom one. “Go to class,” she finished, swinging her leg over his and pulling from his grasp.

She practically skipped out of his room, walking naked to the en suite and starting the shower to warm up before trouncing back out on her way to grab her bath kit. By the time she had her things gathered and was back in the steamy room, Draco had finally rolled out of bed and was using a straight razor to shave. She was honestly surprised he didn’t use a charm or potion but kept that to herself.

She was halfway through her first round of conditioner when he joined her in the small enclosure. They bathed in mostly comfortable silence, trading off access to the hot spray. She had just finished her final round of conditioner when he spoke.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

“Why are you so eager to go to class?” Draco asked in a hopefully convincingly casual tone. “That ready to be rid of me, are you?”

“Why are you so eager to keep me here?” Hermione countered just as casually. “That reluctant to be seen with me, are you?”

Draco was a bit startled, to say the least. He hadn’t considered she would _want_ to be seen with him. She would allow it, since it made sense to do so for “the good of the wizarding world” but to want to? Though, maybe she meant to imply that she wouldn’t mind being seen as friends or civil acquaintances. Or even just two dorm mates who happened to need to go to breakfast at the same time and appeared to walk there in relatively close proximity. Yeah, maybe that one.

Draco opened his mouth to tell her that the whole point of their temporary incarceration was so that they would consent to be seen together but his mouth apparently had other ideas.

“Maybe I’m just worried you’ll run back to Longbottom like you did the first time we shagged.”

_What. An. Idiot. Excellent, Draco. An arse, as usual._

“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. That wasn’t what was supposed to come out of my mouth,” Draco rushed to explain, dropping the loofah he had been using in lieu of grabbing Hermione’s still soap-slicked arm before she could either hit him or huff away.

“What did you mean to say, then?” she asked, voice devoid of emotion and eyes focused somewhere over his left shoulder.

“Just that the whole point of the cat’s meddling was to be seen together and I already said I want us to be friends…more than friends,” Draco answered, running his hand soothing down her arm. “I sat with your friends, didn’t I? Had breakfast with Looney Lovegood and sat at the Gryffindor table at lunch, which, by the way, was so much fun, let me tell you. Obviously I don’t have an issue with being seen with you so the reticence is all on your end here.”

Draco felt he had made his point well. Until Hermione snapped her eyes back to his and got that look on her face. The look that clearly said he was a moron and she was going to prove it. She pulled her arm from his grasp so she could cross her arms over her chest, attempting to look superior but really only pushing her breasts up enticingly. Draco tried not to look. Much.

“You sat with your _pureblood_ cousin at breakfast and then sat with another pureblood at lunch who besides being ridiculously good looking, killed the snake from hell and helped saved the wizarding world, becoming more popular than Cormac McLaggen could have ever dreamed to be. I hardly think that proves you aren’t _reticent_ about being seen with _me_ , the _mudblood_ that your family tried to kill more than once and whom you tormented for years.”

Draco hadn’t thought that way about it at all, actually, but he couldn’t exactly argue with her logic. Well, he could, and he was definitely going to, but he understood where she was coming from.

“You’re an idiot,” he said, clarifying quickly when the witch suddenly looked murderous. “Let’s look at the facts, shall we? I befriended a mad-as-a-hatter member of Dumbledore’s army and known blood traitor whose own house can’t stand _and_ Neville _fuckin_ g Longbottom, quite publicly, for the sole purpose of getting back in _your_ good graces,” Draco enumerated, counting off one finger. “The Slytherins hate me. The ‘Puffs fear me. The Gryffindors avoid interacting with me at all unless they feel like insulting me. The teachers ignore me completely.” More fingers joined the first.

“My family is despised by both sides, tolerated only because I am stupidly rich, and to be honest I couldn’t give less of a shit what my father thinks anyway. There are exactly three people who seem to give the slightest fuck about me and they are all firmly on the side of the light. Being seen with you can do nothing but benefit me, not that I even think of it that way. Furthermore, I shared my darkest secret with you last night, told you in no uncertain terms that I feel a special connection to you, and all of that adds up to one thing,” Draco finished, throwing his hands in the air, “you’re an idiot.”

Draco watched as Hermione’s face fell and her shoulders slumped, arms dropping more to cross over her stomach, defensive instead of offensive in their position. Her eyes slipped away again, this time to an apparently extremely interesting tile by his right foot.

“I’m not any good at this, you know,” she said, voice shaky and low.

Draco didn’t know if he wanted to have another heart-wrenching conversation while standing in the too steamy, too small shower and he knew that was where this was going. He had shared and now she was going to share. He wanted to be there for her, he did. He just really didn’t want them to pass out from the heat, bang their heads against the tub, and end up in the hospital wing explaining to Madame Pomfrey how they both ended up injured in the shower when they only have the one. Awkward wasn’t quite the word.

“What, showering? Well, yeah, you hog the spray but other than that, not the worst shower partner I’ve had,” he said, trying to lighten the mood.” Blaise always stole my body wash and Theo is very handsy for someone who swears he isn’t gay.”

Her eyes jumped to his, wide as saucers, before narrowing in confusion. Her mouth opened and closed a few times, a bit like a fish really but he certainly wasn’t going to _tell_ her that. Finally, she just shook her head before ducking back into the spray to finish rinsing off. Draco figured he wasn’t going to ever get into the hot water, ever, so stepped out and made use of charms, like any good wizard would, to remove the suds and dry off, not to mention expel some of the steam from the room that really was starting to make his head spin.

He was just wrapping a towel around his waist when the shower cut off and Hermione stepped out, smelling amazing and with water droplets glistening all over her delicious little body. It was quite the sight and Draco was hard put to look away. She needed a sympathetic ear and possibly a shoulder to cry on right now, not roving eyes and wandering hands.

He waited for her to dry off before taking her hand and walking her back to his room, very aware that this was a similar and yet very different situation from their first time together. Tucked back together in bed, Draco cradled her head to his chest and waited.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

                “I am a swot,” Hermione started. “I am logical and pragmatic and intuitive. I answer questions before they’re asked, perceive every possible problem or obstacle and act accordingly. I take facts and previous experiences and I make judgments that are, most often, correct. I know most people can’t stand me, the know-it-all, insufferable, too smart and not too pretty. I’m not very nice, or what people perceive to be nice.

                “It makes relationships hard. I have few friends and of course the one man…boy who I take an interest in is one of those friends. Harry is a brother but Ron wasn’t close enough for that. Maybe it was just easier to be with someone who had six years to get used to me and knew all this about me and still showed an interest. Obviously he must like that about me, right?”

                Hermione let the steady rhythm of Draco’s heartbeat soothe her, relaxing further into him and pressing her ear closer to the _lub-dub_. Draco just wrapped his arm more firmly around her.

                “Of course, we fought all the time before we started sleeping together and then we did that instead. A lot. He was my first. It was good. But when outside of bed all you do is argue, what’s to keep you together when you no longer have a bed to fall into? I guess he didn’t like that part about me enough if that was all that was going to be left. Maybe I was just convenient, since I was the only girl around who wasn’t a relative. I don’t know. And I don’t know because I’m no good at this stuff. This relationship stuff.

                “You didn’t want to leave the room and I took our past and your recent actions and I came up with the most logical explanation, that you didn’t want to be seen with me like that. I’m sorry.”

                “This is your show, kitten,” Draco’s voice rumbled from his chest. “You’re the one with something to lose. If you want to be seen together only in group settings with your mates, or seen studying or working together as friends, or anything else up to and including fucking on the head table, I’m down. Whatever you want, whenever you want it, until you don’t want it anymore.”

                Hermione nodded, burrowing closer to his chest.

                “But you have to talk to me. No more ‘perceiving’ shit. I’ve spent my whole life having to hide everything behind subtle hints, innuendos, and closed doors. I won’t do it with you and I don’t want you to keep things to yourself with me. If you’re angry, yell at me, throw things. If you’re scared come to me. If you’re sad, use my shoulder. But please, don’t shut me out or run to…someone else.”

                Hermione nodded again. “That sounds reasonable. I’ll ask the same of you, of course. No Slytherin tactics, if you please. Don’t manipulate me. Just talk to me. Tell me what you want.”

                “Agreed. Right now, what I really want…” Draco trailed off.

                Hermione popped her head up and looked at him, expecting some deep revelation. What she got instead was a toothy grin, a peck on the lips and a smack on the bum.

                “Wha-?”

                “Breakfast, witch,” Draco finished, pushing her aside and hopping out of the bed. “I’m starving. Someone was so demanding this morning that I didn’t get to eat. And now I’m going to be late to my first class. Trouble maker, you are. Insatiable, too.”

                Draco laughed and ducked as Hermione threw a pillow at his head. She couldn’t really be mad at him though so she just followed along, preparing for the day and heading down to the kitchen where they knew they could filch something to eat before going their separate ways.

                “Lunch together?” Draco asked, munching on an apple while the elves dished up a plate of fruit and pastries he could take with him.

                “How public are we making this today?” Hermione countered, spreading cream cheese on a bagel. “We can eat in the kitchen, keep it to ourselves. We can eat in the Great Hall with Luna and Neville. We can eat out at the lake, just us.”

                “Kitten, remember I said I’d be willing to fuck right there on the head table,” Draco reminded her. “However you want to do this is fine by me. It is whatever you are comfortable with. I’m not going to be upset if you want to keep us between us for now. We can be subtle and sit next to each other or be as blatant as all hell and I can carry you into the Great Hall with your legs wrapped around my waist. You lead and I’ll follow.”

                Hermione thought about it. She was a lioness. She wasn’t afraid of what people might say. It was also a very new thing they had and she didn’t want to put all that stress on it when they were just getting started. And dealing with the entire school, the entire wizarding world once some enterprising student leaked it to the outside world, would definitely stress it. That and she really wanted to be able to tell Ginny and Harry before anyone else so she could get them on her side. So as much as she wanted to parade around the school with his arm around her, she was going to hold off.

                “Friends for now. I want to speak to Harry and Ginny and don’t want them blindsided by us. We can sit together at lunch. Or eat just the two of us out by the lake. Harry is coming to our first Hogsmeade weekend in two weeks. I’ll talk to him then. If that’s alright.” Hermione took a bit of her bagel, trying to play it casual.

                “Of course it’s alright. I’ll even join you two, if you want,” Draco offered. “Lunch at the Gryffindor table, then. I’ll see you then,” he confirmed, dropping a kiss on her lips and dashing out of the kitchen, his plate bobbing along beside him.

                “See you then,” she responded to the empty air where her…boyfriend?...had just been standing. She absentmindedly munched on her bagel on the way to class, lost in thought about how she was going to tell Harry that she was sleeping with his once enemy.


End file.
